Sacrifice
by DrEaM-BuT-DoNt-FoRgEt-To-LiVe
Summary: The princes of Archenland have always bickered; it's what brothers do. But when they're thrust into a web of deceit and corruption, they must put aside their differences for the good of their loved ones... and for the good of their kingdom.
1. Prologue

I brushed my fingertips lightly on the side of the balcony. Snowflakes drizzled onto my hand and dissolved instantly, only to be replaced by others. I tried to stare at my fingertips, white with cold, instead of the crowd gathered below. I didn't even know why I'd gone up there. I suppose it was my form of closure- however painful it may have been.

The North Tower of the palace towered over the surrounding grounds, and was so tall that if any idle spectator were to look up, all they'd see was a black speck. That suited me fine. As far as everyone was concerned, I'd already left. I _should_ have left. But I couldn't.

The final notes of the _Bridal Ballad _died away in the courtyard, to be replaced by the faint, musical voice of the Head Dryad, Illyree. Cor had pleaded with Queen Lucy to ask Illyree to travel to Archenland for the wedding. It was common knowledge that a marriage overseen by a creature of the forest would be long-lasting and prosperous. And with all the trials and tribulations that the Royals had been forced to endure in the past year... a little luck and superstition couldn't hurt.

I could make out the distant figures of the bride and groom; the groom's circlet reflecting the fading rays of the afternoon sun, and the bride's gown, a prominent speck of white in a heaving sea of colour.

Minutes later, the music picked up again, and a chorus of cries could be heard from below. Flower petals showered the newly-married couple, who sauntered buoyantly down the aisle with an air of elation that only pre-honeymooners seem to have.

Even as the courtyard emptied, as the music faded, as the Sun disappeared and as night took over, the snow continued; which was strangely comforting. A constant that I appreciated. And though the snow thickened and began to fall more heavily, I still stood there. Blankly. Staring. I don't know why. Perhaps I was still hoping that I was simply stuck in a horrifying nightmare. That the silent secret, the silent hope that I'd been harbouring for years, hadn't just been shattered. But as much as I wished and hoped; _there was no point_.

"_Corin_," a voice tentatively whispered behind me.

I turned around slowly; knowing who it was... but hoping I was wrong.

"Hello Aravis," I answered quietly, my heart involuntarily sinking as I took in the sight of her in all her bridal glory.

She looked beautiful, of course. Father had given her Mother's dress as soon as the engagement had been announced. The garment had been in the care of the Royal seamstress since Mother's death, locked in a trunk that was hidden away from prying eyes. It was hardly modern... and Father knew it. He told Aravis that she could have it altered however she wanted. But Aravis wouldn't hear of it. She fell in love with the dress immediately, refusing vehemently to change a stitch. And at that moment, I was glad she hadn't.

The dress had long sleeves that bared her shoulders in a typically Northern fashion. The bodice was modest and gently hugged her torso, before flaring into a skirt made of handmade Archenland lace. The only elaborate aspect of her appearance was her hair, which Queen Susan no doubt had fiddled with, meticulously, to perfection. Susan always found that her handiwork was better than any professional in the kingdom... and she never attempted to hide that fact. Aravis's lustrous hair, common in Calormene women, fell in curls to her elbows, and was woven with delicate white lilies that I knew could only be found on the banks of the River Winding Arrow. But apart from that, she looked simple and unadorned.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised. Aravis hated fuss and frills. As soon as she could, she'd burned the Calormene clothing that she'd been wearing when she first arrived in Archenland with Cor... or as she called him, Shasta. She claimed that she'd had enough garish colours and tacky cleavage-bearing dresses to last a lifetime. At the time, I'd been too busy blushing at the word 'cleavage' to really notice what she'd been saying. To be honest, I don't know why. With only thirteen years under her belt, Aravis didn't really have much cleavage to speak of.

"I thought you'd have left by now," she said, stepping closer.

"Me too," I smiled weakly. "Shouldn't you be entertaining your guests," I asked, running a hand through my hair in a nervous gesture.

"That's Cor's job," she replied teasingly.

I visibly winced at the sound of my brother's name, and turned away so Aravis wouldn't see my expression.

"Besides, I just needed some 'me-time'," Aravis continued, oblivious to my discomfort.

"You never did like crowds," I replied, forcing a smile.

There was a moment of tense silence.

"You don't have to leave _now_, you know," Aravis blurted out. "It's dark already anyway. Just stay for tonight- join in the festivities. You can leave tomorrow... after you've said a _proper_ goodbye to everyone."

I swallowed thickly. "It's not that... that I _have_ to go Aravis." I turned to face her. "I _want_ to go. I don't exactly feel like forcing a smile on my face while I dine with foreign royals that I don't even know, and celebrate my brother's marriage to his... his new wife. A marriage that I've never wanted and _will_ never want."

Aravis flinched. "Corin... I don't know what you want me to _say_."

"I don't want you to say anything," I said bitterly, picking up my satchel and swinging it over my shoulder. "You made your feelings very clear in Tashbaan. And I can't force you to feel things that you evidently _don't_."

"I don't want you to leave like this."

"Like what?"

"Bitter, angry, resentful... the list goes one."

"It would be better for me to leave angry, than stay angry," I reasoned coolly.

"Corin, I've... I've always valued your friendship-" Aravis said quickly, taking my hand.

"Don't!" I said sharply, snatching it away. "Your pity is more humiliating than your rejection."

"Oh, Corin," she whispered, her eyes glistening with tears. I didn't know if they were sad or frustrated tears.

I softened slightly. "I love you Aravis," I whispered. "And I can't stay and pretend that I don't. I have to leave- at least for a while. If I don't, I'll always have this burden upon my shoulders. I want to forget _everything_. And... I can't do that here."

I reached out and placed my hand on her cheek. She tensed initially, but her stance relaxed after a few moments. I admired the contrast of my skin, white from cold, against her still-warm, dark complexion. I swallowed again, trying to remove the lump stuck in my throat.

"No matter what... I will come back," I said quietly.

I bent my head and kissed her gently on the cheek, before dropping my hand and moving towards the tower door. I could feel her eyes boring into my back, the heartbroken look on her face. As I placed my hand on the doorknob, I turned back, fighting tears, and looked at her sad, but resigned expression.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

I shoved the door open, and turned, watching it slam shut with a loud _bang, _Aravis's face fading from view.

The air seemed to go out of me as I stumbled down the stairs and out into the palace grounds. I started running. I didn't know where. But I ran. Father used to tell me that when I wanted to run away, I moved so swiftly that no one could catch up with me, as hard as they tried. I used that to my advantage. I just kept running. Away from Aravis. Away from Cor. And away from my past.

* * *

**A/N: Phew! So there it is guys. The first chapter of my first ever fanfic! YAY! You know what would make it better? A REVIEW! Please write one, even if it's to tell me this story sucks and I should drop writing and consider rock-climbing as a possible pastime instead (although, hopefully not). Just to let you know, there are going to be four parts to this story. Each part will have around ten chapters in it, so we're looking at a rough estimation of about forty chapters in total. I may take long breaks between some of the chapters but I assure you, I WON'T ABANDON THIS STORY. So once again, please review :-) **


	2. Cor: Red

The Terebinthian King, Cyrus, was one of the most feared men in the land. Despite being in control of one of the smallest islands in the world, he was well-known for being ruthless and extremely focused. Father used to scoff at the outrageous rumours he would hear about the king, claiming that he was simply a man who liked having his ego stroked. Undoubtedly, Cyrus was powerful, authoritative, and sometimes, just plain _scary_, however that didn't make meetings with him and his entourage any less tedious.

"As you know, Terebinthia holds Archenland in very high esteem, and although what I wish to propose may _appear_ to be solely for the benefit of my country, I _assure_ you that I have Your Highnesses' best interests at heart..."

I stifled a yawn. From the corner of my eye, I could see Corin nodding off, his crown sitting crookedly on his hair... which I could see he hadn't brushed today- or all week. Aravis was leaning her head against her palm, her expression glazed and her eyelids drooping. I could feel her side brushing against me as she slid off her chair unconsciously.

As I tried to find a way to nudge her awake without attracting too much attention, King Cyrus continued with his proposal. I wished he's just get to the point already...

"... alliance would be advantageous to both parties involved..."

I hope Cook found my sword. I promised Corin I'd duel with him as practice for the tournament tomorrow. I guess those tax policies will just have to wait another day. Aravis is going to skin me alive...

"...daughter is fully willing to take part in such an agreement. Such maturity, I find, is truly rare in young ones these days; then again, it is only to be expected from the future queen of Terebinthia..."

Aravis said I was 'shirking my duties'. _Shirking_ I tell you. Honestly, I thought her whinging was just a result of hunger and fatigue when we were travelling to Archenland. But seven years later, and it still hasn't stopped. Father says it's just a 'staple' of our relationship, and were it to disappear, then I'd miss it dearly. I would be very willing to argue that point though.

However, back to the issue at hand. A few more minutes. Just a few. Then Corin would have been born first and I'd be the one asleep during meetings held with foreign dignitaries. Hopefully without the drooling.

"...so as you can see, a marriage between Your Royal Highness and my daughter Caroline would be an extremely beneficial course of action to pursue-"

Wait, _what?_

I jerked awake immediately. Through my peripheral vision, I could see that Corin and Aravis had done the same. Aravis's eyes were wide with horror, and Corin's precariously positioned circlet tumbled to the ground with a loud clatter. Corin blushed, and hurriedly bent down to pick it up.

"_Marriage?_" I spluttered.

Cyrus looked less than pleased at my unflattering response. "Why yes, my Prince. I thought you would be pleased. My sources within the castle informed me that you've expressed an interest in my daughter."

I gaped at him, ignoring Aravis's accusatory glares. "Well I'm afraid you've been _mis_informed. I shall ignore the fact that you've been stealthily collecting information about the Royal Family through these sources- though I assure you, the matter will be looked into- and I'll address the issue at hand first. Under no circumstances will I be marrying Princess Caroline in the near..._or_ distant future."

"But-" interjected Cyrus.

I held up an authoritative hand, silencing him effectively. "Not only do I believe that such a marriage would go against everything I believe in, I'm afraid that in any case, you are too late. I am already betrothed."

"B-betrothed?" Cyrus stammered.

I looked at him coldly, then slipped a hand beneath my tunic and tugged a delicate silver chain out. From it dangled a simple, unadorned engagement ring. Corin gaped at me stricken, only outdone by Cyrus and his staff. Ghalda and Tinis, my Royal advisors, looked mildly shocked but generally unsurprised.

"Indeed," I replied frostily. "Of course, I did not wish to announce my engagement in this manner, but I suppose, unpleasant circumstances call for drastic measures."

"_Betrothed_... but to _whom_?" spat Cyrus.

I stepped back and slipped my hand through Aravis's. She squeezed mine gently.

"The Lady Aravis has agreed to do me the honour," I replied, my tone hostile.

Corin dropped his crown again.

"Oh, by Aslan's Mane Corin, will you put it on the table or something!" I cried out irritably.

Corin blushed again, clearing his throat in embarassment. "Sorry," he muttered.

Cyrus composed himself long enough to speak once again. "Well, of course, if Your Highness is spoken for..." He turned to Corin. "Perhaps the younger...?" he continued.

Corin's head snapped up and he looked at me pleadingly. _Help_, his eyes said, begging.

"You presume too much, Your Majesty," I spat at Cyrus. "I didn't reject your proposal simply because I am already engaged. I shall tell you now that Archenland looks disparagingly upon marriages that are simply used as _tactics_- plans that are controlled by power-hungry leaders who wish to have their hand in another empire as well as their own."

"You dare speak to me in that manner?!" Cyrus retaliated, red-faced and fuming. "You're just a boy- not even crowned as the King of Archenland yet. Your father is on the brink of death and, and you suddenly believe that you're capable of running a country just because you have an expensive crown... and a Calormene tramp by your side."

I visibly stiffened, and moved forward threateningly. Aravis grabbed the back of my tunic hastily, using her free hand to prevent me from withdrawing

"Don't rise to the bait," she whispered desperately in my ear. "If you go at him, his guard will have every excuse to attack you."

I relaxed my stance and moved closer to Aravis, rubbing my temple wearily.

"_Get out_," I muttered, looking determinedly at the ground as I was sure that if I saw Cyrus's face, I wouldn't be able to restrain myself from punching him.

The Terebinthian King's face turned an unflattering shade of beet-red and his moustache quivered dangerously.

"I _beg_ your pardon," he seethed.

"And I_ beg_ that you leave me in peace so that I can regain my sanity, which I can assure you, is not an easy thing to do in such company," I retorted, still glaring at the carpet.

"You insolent little-" Cyrus cried, moving threateningly towards me, his hand raised.

He didn't get very far before my guards, Daniel and Zarek, were upon him. Cyrus crashed to the ground, his arms pinned down on either side of his head, his ample stomach heaving with shock, and his limbs flailing in agitation.

"Would you like us to remove him Your Highness?" Zarek spat, breathing heavily.

I nodded curtly.

Cyrus was dragged to his feet unceremoniously, his own guards and advisors protesting in anger as their King was hauled towards the door.

"I will not forget this! Watch your back, young _king_... you'll regret ever denying this proposal!" Cyrus yelled, thrashing against the guards.

"As you wish, _Your Majesty_," I replied coolly. "But just remember that Terebinthia relies on Archenland's trade and support. This country will not be afraid to fight agressors... and we shall win."

Cyrus was removed, kicking and screaming, a trail of Terebinthians following their humiliated King.

"Leave us," I said authoritatively to my advisors.

They nodded and departed swiftly, the door closing shut.

A moment of silence followed. It yawned on and on, until I simply had to speak.

"Will someone, for the love of all that is good, please _speak_," I said, gritting my teeth in annoyance.

"That was completely unnecessary Cor," Corin replied immediately. "Do you have _any_ idea what kind of repercussions this could have?"

"My, my, my," I replied, grinning tauntingly. "Is little brother growing up?"

Corin's jaw tightened in anger. "Don't you _dare_ speak to me like an imbecile. Because of you, Terebinthia may completely cut off trade with us or even worse, they might wage war."

My grin faded. "No they won't. They're not reckless enough to try and fight Archenland. They'd be defeated within days. And they rely on our trade."

Corin simply turned away, his arms crossed and his back tense. I looked at Aravis pleadingly to support me but she she avoided my gaze and looked at her feet.

"I'm sorry," I said, letting out a breath. "What he said about Aravis... I just... couldn't help myself."

Corin turned around, a momentary flash of anger passing over his eyes. I blinked. But he was smiling... it must have been a trick of light.

"It's fine... I probably would have done the same, you know, if I was fully awake," Corin said, smiling slightly. He looked at both Aravis and me. "It seems like I'm not the only one who's growing up. I suppose congratulations are in order."

I grinned, taking Aravis's hand. She glanced at me, her expression relieved.

"Have you set a date," Corin asked amicably. But his tone was strange. As though he really didn't care.

"Not yet," Aravis replied. "We were _supposed_ to announce the engagement when Lucy and Edmund arrive tomorrow but I guess this one had other ideas."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I apologised, rolling my eyes. "If you'd rather I'd accepted Caroline's engagement, I wouldn't have minded. I hear she's rather fetching-"

Aravis slapped my chest in mock-outrage. "Oh yes, if you find donkeys attractive."

"Aravis," I said, staggering dramatically. "I'm shocked!"

We continued to bicker good-naturedly until Corin interjected.

"Well, as adorable as this is to witness, I'm hungry. I'm going to see-"

Corin was brusquely interrupted as Tinis came barrelling back through the door.

"Your Majesties," he panted. "King Lune! Something's happened!"

**A/N And that's the next chapter. Trust me, updates twice a day are unlikely to happen very often, but I was already halfway through this chapter so I decided to finish it. As for the chapter name, I suddenly remembered an AsCast challenge from a couple of episodes back. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, AsCast is a podcast that you can find on the Narnia Fanfiction Revolution Website, and it's one of the funniest things I've ever heard. Please check it out if you haven't already because the hosts are hilarious and their fanfics are awesome too. So anyways, the chapter name; I've decided to name each chapter after a colour, depending on the general 'mood' of the chapter. Red is for anger, passion, war, danger and power, all of which I think are somehow present in this chapter. Sorry for the cliffhanger but I'll try and post the next chapter soon... hopefully within the next week. Please review :-)**


	3. Corin: Black

For eleven years, before Cor had arrived, it'd always just been Father and I. I'd been so young when Mother died that I couldn't even remember her very well. I could remember that she sang me 'All Through the Night' every time I woke up from restless sleep. I could remember that she loved working in the orchards with the royal gardeners, and always returned to the palace smelling like apples. But apart from that, I couldn't remember anything. And I suppose you can't miss someone you never really knew. Father had been so distraught after Mother's death, that he never even considered finding another wife. Unlike most children, I'd actually half-hoped that he would marry again. I hated being an only child. No brother for me to give advice to; no sister for me to protect. If father remarried, perhaps I would have a sibling. But years passed and I stopped wishing.

I was never resentful though. I couldn't relate with Father- but I understood his pain. Besides, it wasn't like I was being deprived of a decent childhood just because I didn't have children my own age to play with. The castle staff and their family became my friends, my brothers and my sisters. When the atilliator's son broke one of his father's crossbows, I helped him to repair it before he returned to the castle; when the Cook's daughter ruined a batch of sweet cakes for visiting dignitaries, I stayed up all night helping her to make more; when one of the stable boys ate a piece of new-baked leavened bread when he thought no one was looking, I lied and said that it had been me who ate it. The all thought of me as their brother... and I loved it. But the fact of the matter was that... well... I wasn't. And no matter how hard I tried to relate to them, at the end of the day, I was a prince and they worked for me.

Then Cor arrived in Archenland, and my wish was granted. He perfectly balanced me out. Where I was impulsive, he was careful; I was loud and always spoke my mind, Cor was quiet and withdrawn, only making his feelings known to those he knew well. It felt as though that missing piece of the jigsaw had finally been found. But even though I was elated that I had a brother, Cor wasn't quite as ecstatic. Perhaps his Calormene background instilled a sense of cautiousness in him, but at first, he only ever spoke to Aravis. Initially, I was a bit disgruntled by my new-found twin's behaviour, but my excitement overshadowed my irritation, and as Cor gradually let me in, I found myself growing to love my new brother more and more.

But as much as I adored Cor, at times I couldn't stop thinking that he would always be a newcomer; an intruder. I was so used to it just being Father and me that sometimes (very rarely) I almost... resented Cor for encroaching upon this special relationship that only Father and I shared. There were moments, especially when Cor wasn't in the castle due to important 'royal matters' that he had to attend to, where it would just be Father and I once again; just like old times. He'd come with me to archery practice; we'd swordfight for hours on end; we walked to the lake and fished all afternoon. I cherished those moments I spent with Father. And then I'd be hit with a sudden wave of terror. That Father would leave me completely alone. That I would be left an orphan. That he would leave me like Mother did.

This was one of those moments.

Father lay spasmodically gasping and retching on his bed, oblivious to the servants trying to restrain his flailing limbs. The bedclothes surrounding his convulsing body became more and more tangled and wild. He involuntarily knocked a glass of water off his bed-side table, causing it to shatter loudly.

And all I could do was stare at him in horror. Cor tried to rush forward but was restrained by two of the King's guards. Aravis stayed back, sliding down one of the walls of the room, her hand over her mouth, sobbing quietly.

But I just stood there.

All of a sudden, Father's body stopped jerking. The room fell silent apart from his raspy breathing. The guards let go of Cor and he rushed forward to Father's bedside, taking his hand gently.

"C-Cor," Father gasped, his eyes filling with tears from the sheer effort of speaking.

"I'm here Father," Cor whispered, his breathing choppy and uneven.

"Corin?" Father asked, too weak to form a full sentence, but capable of putting across his question.

Cor pulled away and turned towards me.

"Er... well- maybe... not the best..."I trailed off, fiddling with the edge of my tunic.

Cor crinkled his eyebrows in that annoying _'here we go again'_ expression. He looked down at Father and gently placed his hand down before walking unsteadily to me.

I stepped back unconsciously. He paused and crinkled those infernal eyebrows again.

_Come on. Nothing will happen. I promise._

I looked at him uncertainly.

_Are you sure?_

Cor's eyes lit up with understanding.

_Oh! _

He looked at me sympathetically. He replied to my unspoken question with a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Cor knew that I'd always been the brawny twin and he'd always been the brainy one. I was rash, impulsive and I didn't know my own strength. A few years previously, Aravis had stolen my sword and I spent hours chasing her around the castle. When I finally caught up with her, I'd grabbed her arm, trying to pry my sword away from her, and minutes later, a large, hand-shaped bruise blossomed on her wrist. It was worse than just a bruise though. Aravis couldn't sword-fight for a week. Cor had exploded at me, saying that I had to stop being so 'damned destructive'.

And the minute I saw Father that day, those words that Cor had told me such a long time ago suddenly hit me with full force. I _was_ destructive. And with Father is such a fragile state, I was afraid that I could worsen his condition just by a touch; that I would accidentally hurt him in some way. It was a silly notion, but at the time it didn't seem that way.

But it wasn't just that. I was afraid of seeing the only parent I had ever known fade away- and I knew he was fading. Deep down, I knew that my Father's fight was ending. He couldn't keep battling his age forever. And although I was sure that that fact was hard for him to accept, it was even harder for _me_ to accept.

I tentatively walked forward and took Father's hand carefully, inwardly wincing when I felt his dry, papery skin and the prominent tracings of veins criss-crossing the surface.

"_Corin...?"_ Father gasped.

"I'm here Father," I whispered. "I'm here."

Cor smiled at me sadly and resumed his position holding Father's other hand.

"My boys... my sons," Father rasped, a toothy smile overtaking his pale, drawn face. "Now, I need the two of you to listen to me for once- which I know might be a foreign concept to comprehend."

Cor and I laughed weakly, but Cor couldn't stop the worry from creeping into his voice. Father tried to laugh too, but immediately burst into a fit of coughs, his body racking painfully. His advisors and physicians rushed to his side, but he raised his hand with great effort and waved them away. He turned his head towards Cor, his eyes watering.

"Cor, my dear boy, you listen carefully to me now... this will be my last chance to offer you my pearls of wisdom," Father said firmly.

Cor flinched. "Father don-"

"_Hush now_!" Father exclaimed desperately, the effort causing him to burst into another fit of angry coughs. Blood seeped from his nose, painfully bright against his pallid complexion. Unconsciously, I used my tunic sleeve to dab at the blood, carefully wiping it away. Cor fell silent at once.

"Cor," Father whispered hurriedly. "You have been prepared for _years_ to become King. I know that you're scared, but there's no reason to be my boy. You will be the finest King Archenland has ever seen, and I have _never_ been prouder to call you my son."

By then, tears were trickling down Cor's face steadily. He lifted Father's hand and kissed it, burying his face in the palm. Father smiled at him and the turned his face towards me.

"You aren't alone Cor," Father continued. "You have your brother, and you have Aravis."

Father looked fondly over the foot of his bed at the door, where Aravis was standing now, her hand over her mouth as she tried to restrain sobs.

"She will make a wonderful wife," he said, winking at Cor. At Cor's startled expression, he smiled. "You can't keep matters as important as engagements secret from me."

Cor smiled weakly, and looked at Aravis with tears still falling rapidly from his eyes. Father turned his face towards me.

"Corin," he said weakly.

"Yes father?" I whispered, blinking back tears fiercely.

"Everyone always thinks that you're the son that is never affected by anything," Father said smiling. "The strong one, the hardened one. But I know that isn't true."

I looked into his eyes, crying freely now too.

"Cor will at least have the kingdom and a wife to occupy himself with. I want to make sure that you won't let this consume you Corin."

"I _can't_ Father," I sobbed desperately, clutching his hand even tighter. "I've already lost Mother... I can't lose you too. Please don't make me."

Father let go off my hand and touched my head gently. "I don't think I have a say in the matter anymore, my boy. But life must go on. It's my time to leave, and we must simply accept it. Just remember, I will always love you and your brother, and I know that you will be the greatest royals the kingdom has ever known."

"But what am I to do without you?" I whispered.

"I wish I could answer," Father said sadly. "I wish I could tell you for certain. But I can't. All I know is that someday, you will understand that Death is simply a part of Aslan's plan. One day, you will find someone as special to you as Aravis is to Cor, who will help you heal. But until then, I need you to promise that you won't isolate yourself from everyone who's trying to help. I know that you deal with grief badly, but you cannot allow yourself to shut everyone out. They are simply trying to help you return to normalcy."

"_Normalcy_," I spat bitterly. "Father, you _are_ this kingdom. Without you there is _nothing_."

"That may be how it seems now," Father replied. "But the kingdom will go on without me, and I know that you will be just fine."

Those were the last words Father ever said to me.

The next few minutes passed by like a blur. Father began to cough once again. Violently. Painfully. Blood spurted from his mouth and trickled from his nose, spattering red all over the sheets. Cor and I grabbed his arms and shouted for the physicians. Tears ran in floods from his eyes and his body shook painfully from side to side.

Cor and I screamed at him. We yelled meaningless words of comfort. Of hope. Father's guards dragged us from his bedside. I fought against them, yelling and crying. Aravis wrapped her arms around Cor, who'd sunk to the floor, sobbing hysterically. Father's physicians were forcing a variety of medicines down his throat and yelling at him to respond.

And as suddenly as the chaos began, silence fell. Father's body fell limp against the bed. Cor buried his face into Aravis's chest, stifling his sobs. Father's physicians froze. I stopped fighting against the guards and stared at Father's unmoving body in shock.

Tinis stepped towards me, his expression sympathetic. I stepped backwards, shaking my head in disbelief.

"I'm sorry Your Highness," he whispered. "He's gone."

* * *

**A/N: Okay people, that was officially the worst thing I've ever had to write :-( I know I said I wouldn't be updating for a while, but I finished revising for all my tests and had some free time, so I got this chapter done. I wanted to get this over with, like pulling off a plaster, because it was really unpleasant to write. I've never (fortunately) had to personally experience the death of a family member, so I really did have to use my imagination in this chapter. I hope no-one's confused by the narrator-switching; I write each chapter from the point of view of the character I think is affected the most by the events. Please do let me know if you want me to clarify anything in the writing :-) As for this chapter's colour, black represents fear, hopelessness, loss and death; all of which are aspects of this chapter. Well that's all I really have to say... exceppttt... I've checked the story traffic for 'Sacrifice', and there've been lots of hits, and favourites as well (which is GREAT)... but please take the time to leave a review, even if it's only a one-liner. Speaking of reviews, this chapter is dedicated to_ Lily. Weasley.757_, _IrishSongBird_ and _rthstewart_ for being my first EVER reviewers :D I'll try and update asap, as soon as I figure out what to write :-) So yes, please review and let me know if you have any favourite quotes or anything. I assure you that I always reply to reviews :D And finalllyy, I've put a poll on my profile, so if you have any free time, please check it out. That's all for now guys. Until next time... :D**


	4. Cor & Aravis: Grey

Father's funeral was the grandest Archenland had ever seen. It was held in the grand courtyard at the front of the palace barely two days after his death. I was awoken on the morning of the event by bright rays of sunshine filtering in through my curtains. After I had stumbled out of bed blurry-eyed and opened the balcony doors, I was hit by the unusually sharp light of the Sun, it's rays reflecting off the eastern sea and lighting up the flowers edging the gardens. I hurried back inside, and drew the curtains, inexplicably angry. Perhaps it was because it seemed like Nature was almost _celebrating_ my Father's passing.

I was reminded of something that Aravis had said to me months ago in passing, while she was reading a book about the traditions and practices of the woodland species; and by that she meant dryads, nymphs and talking trees… not squirrels and badgers as I'd initially assumed. She'd told me that whereas humans found Death to be a feared and hated entity, the people of the woods respected it greatly, and believed that those who were lucky enough to pass into the afterlife should be grateful that they had the opportunity to continue 'living' in Aslan's Country.

But respect or joy weren't even close to the emotions I felt that day. Resentment, sadness and loss were perhaps much more accurate. If it weren't for Aravis, Corin and I wouldn't have even managed to attend Father's funeral. She first attended to me, ensuring that I was wearing appropriate clothing; checking that my circlet was set _just so _atop my head; making sure I swallowed the bread that she'd brought up from the kitchen. And then she crossed the corridor to Corin's room and did the exact same.

At exactly noon, the three of us entered the courtyard, the Sun at its peak point, so that everyone in the vicinity was sweating profusely in their black clothing. As well as foreign dignitaries and nobility like the Four who had travelled immediately from Narnia on hearing the news, the entire population of Archenland had crowded within the grounds, eager to say goodbye to their King.

Something hard hit my ankle. I looked down, knocked out of my trance. It was a tiny cloth ball. I picked it up and looked around for the owner. A tiny peasant boy who was clutching his mother's leg shyly, caught sight of Corin and I, and dropped the hem of his mother's dress in awe. I could imagine how Aravis would've loved to grab his cheeks and coo over him. He looked almost angelic, with white-blonde hair curling over his forehead in tangles, and big green eyes that were wide with excitement. He blushed under my penetrating gaze.

"Mama! Mama!" he cried. "The princes! It's the princes! They're here!

All at once, the heaving crowd spun around synchronically. They stared at us for a moment. And then burst into a deafening throng of noise.

"Long live King Cor!"

"The King's memory will live forever Your Highnesses!"

"We are here for the Royals!"

"When's the coronation?"

I felt a small hand slip into mine. Aravis brought her mouth to my ear.

"Stay calm... we'll get through this," she whispered reassuringly.

I nodded, swallowing thickly. Aravis linked her arm through Corin's, and with her hand still firmly entwined with mine, she steered us to the twin thrones at the end of the courtyard. The crowd parted for us in unison but the noise continued.

_Breathe, Cor, breathe._

When we were settled in the ornate thrones, Tinis made his way to us.

"Are you ready for the ceremony to begin Your Highness," he asked.

I looked at Corin, who was staring, dazed, into the distance, and nodded curtly.

Tinis bowed in reply and hurriedly walked out of the courtyard through a side-door. Minutes later, the sound of trumpets filled the air; long, mournful chords that seemed to be drawn out at a painful pace. The crowd fell silent at once, glancing around for the source of the noise.

The main gateway into the courtyard began to open, as painfully slow as the trumpets' music. One by one, the soldiers of the Archenland army came into view- all two hundred thousand of them. Their uniforms had been ironed as flat as paper, and their medals glinted in the afternoon sun. Their faces were set in identical, doctored expressions of sorrow.

They marched swiftly, their footsteps the only sounds in the otherwise entirely silent courtyard. _Left, right, left, right._

And then I saw it. My breath caught in the back of my throat. My hand tightened on the arm of the throne. Corin stared at his feet, refusing to look up. Aravis immediately put her hand on my shoulder firmly, as though afraid that I would lurch forward.

A horse-drawn carriage made its way forward, its driver also in military dress. The carriage's body was made entirely from glass, beautifully designed images of Archenland etched into the surface. The mountains, the river, the forests. But what had made tears spring to my eyes instantaneously... was the black, wooden tomb resting within.

The carriage moved closer and closer. The spectators reached forward, desperately trying to touch it as it passed by.

Corin finally looked up. His face twisted painfully as he took in the sight before him.

"Cor," he whispered. "Tell him to stop."

I looked at him in confusion.

"Tell him to stop," Corin said hysterically, his voice rising. "Tell the driver to take it away!"

"I can't," I said, raising my hand towards him to try and quieten him down.

"Tell him to stop, tell him to stop..." Corin chanted frantically, his hands buried in his hair, and his head shaking wildly from side to side.

"Corin-" I began, reaching out towards him.

He sprang to his feet and looked at me with a... _betrayed _expression on his face.

"Tell him to STOP," he yelled, attracting the attention of several of the spectators.

I stood up, moving towards him with my arms held out. He stepped back immediately.

There was a pause.

"I can't do this," he whispered.

And then he ran.

* * *

"A person doesn't just_ disappear_ Tinis," I said exasperatedly. "Especially when said person is the _Crown Prince of Archenland!"_

"We've sent out all our guards Lady Aravis," replied a very harassed-looking Tinis. "All of them. We assumed that Prince Corin would return soon so we didn't look for him until now. If he did run away, he has a head-start."

"Have you looked outside the window, man!" I cried in frustration. "It's pouring out there. Whether he ran away or not, whether he had a head-start or not, is completely irrelevant! The Prince is in no state to be wandering about in the woods in the middle of a thunderstorm!"

"I don't understand what you expect us to do," Tinis snapped. "We've got all of our men searching every nook and cranny of Archenland. We can do no more until this storm ends!"

"The storm could continue for days!"

"Our resources have been entirely depleted. We cannot possibly send out anymore men. A dozen already need medical attention from the damage that the storm has caused."

"If the fittest soldiers in the kingdom are no match for this storm, Corin will never last out there!"

"His Highness is a healthy man. He will be fine. We cannot lose faith!"

"Well then, since your men are evidently incompetent, I'll take matters into my own hands," I replied angrily.

I swept past him and out into the corridor, the heels of my highly impractical shoes clicking loudly against the marble floor. I could hear Tinis's cries of protest behind me.

"Lady Aravis... you can't possibly go out there; it's much too dangerous..." he yelled after me.

I ignored him and ran up the stairs to my chambers. My lady-in-waiting, Aliyah jumped up in fright as I stormed through the door.

"Lady Aravis-" she began

"No time Aliyah... I need my travelling cloak and the thickest boots you can find," I ordered.

She curtsied in response and bustled towards my closet, rummaging through the heap of garments that I'd managed to acquire over eleven years in Archenland. I pulled open my drawer and found the dagger that Lune had given me for my sixteenth birthday, as well as a candle. Aliyah handed me cloak and boots, which were very dusty from lack of use, but otherwise perfectly fine.

"Put this in a lantern... something made by the dwarves that I can use in this weather. When you're done, meet be by the Palace entrance," I said hurriedly, handing over my candle and stumbling out of the door while simultaneously pulling on my other boot.

I ran to the west wing of the palace where the twins' chambers were.

"Have you seen Prince Cor," I asked Zarek, panting heavily as I ran by him.

"He's in his chamber my Lady," Zarek replied. "But he's refusing to come out, eat... do anything really."

I thanked him and carried on to Cor's room, my heart sinking inwardly. Maybe Cor wasn't going to be as much help as I hoped.

I skidded to a halt in front of his chamber and hammered on the door.

"Cor! Open up!" I bellowed. "Right now! We have to find Corin!"

No response.

"Come on, Cor, please come out," I yelled, my arms sliding to my sides as the door remained shut.

I let out a cry of frustration and ran back down the corridor. After flying down three flights of stairs to the entrance hall, I made my way to the Palace entrance where Aliyah was waiting patiently, a lantern dangling from her arm.

"There are spares in the satchel my Lady," she said anxiously, handing over the lantern and a small drawstring bag.

"Thank you," I said gratefully, glad that not everyone in the castle was intent on being highly unhelpful.

I pulled the hood of my cloak over my head and with a deep breath, stepped outside.

It was chaos.

The night was pitch-black, apart from a sliver of moon that could be seen from behind the roiling clouds overtaking the sky. Half the trees edging the front courtyard had been violently blown over by the wind, or struck down by lightning, while the other half were doubled over at impossible angles. The distant echoes of thunder rumbled through the palace grounds, mingling with the heavy pounding of torrential rain.

I stumbled blindly to the main gate, the lantern pathetically weak against the oppressive darkness. I could see distant specks of light near the river, which I assumed were the palace guards searching for Corin. I looked towards the woods. From the palace, I could see that there was no-one searching there. Evidently the search parties were too scared to wander into the forest in the middle of a thunderstorm.

I gulped, trying to remove the knot wedged in my throat, and began walking towards the woods. I could barely make out the path beneath my feet; the ground was strewn with thick branches and piles of leaves from the fallen trees. The menacing, shadowy trees of the forest edged closer and closer. The palace slipped further and further away.

"Corin!" I bellowed, my skirt billowing wildly against my legs. "Where are you!"

The trees swayed around me, giving the impression that they were moving closer and closer to me. I could hear the distinct screeches of every nocturnal animal in existence; owls, bats, everything. The sharp wind stung my eyes, causing them to water painfully. After an hour of looking for Corin, I was on the verge of tears.

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a winding tree root meandered into my path. I didn't have time to stop. I tripped over it, landing with a painful crack on my ankle. I cried out in pain, my leg in agony.

"Corin!" I screamed. "Somebody help!"

I screamed and screamed frantically, my throat burning from the effort. Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes passed rapidly. But no-one came. I collapsed to the ground in exhaustion, curling my body into the foetal position.

"Anybody help," I whispered, sobbing.

The only reply I received was the distant hoot of a screech owl. I closed my eyes and pressed my numb hands against my ears, trying to shut out the raging storm. Rain pounded against my limp body, mingling with my tears of pain, frustration and hopelessness.

Hours passed by quickly, ignoring me as they went on their way. At times, I thought that I could hear someone calling my name, but when I feebly opened my eyes, I could hear nothing.

Suddenly, the world went quiet. The storm seemed to stop. I could no longer feel the rain, cold against my skin. I didn't want to open my eyes, afraid that the tranquillity would disappear as soon as I did. I felt nothing. Nothing but peace.

* * *

**A/N: I know I said I'd update sooner than that but I wrote this chapter months ago when I got the idea for this fic, but I saved it on a computer in the house that I used to live in... in Mauritius :P So yes, I had to wait for my Dad to go and email the document to me from the computer over there (and he's hopeless with technology, so that in itself took awhile). I've added some bits but otherwise, it's pretty much the same as how it was when I first wrote it. Grey represents confusion, hopelessness and uncertainty (hence the phrase, 'shades of grey'). **

**On another note, my christmas holidays have just started, but I'm going to be spending most of the time revising; I've planned twelve hour revision days... in fact, I'm currently writing this during one of the breaks that I've crammed into said timetable :D My mock exams start in January, so updates may not be coming very frequently until the 20th January (when my exams finish). **

**And on a completely random note... I'm trying to get my Mum some Pandora charms for Christmas (which are gorgeous)... but there are LOAADDS... so if anyone has time, please go to the argento jewellery website and pick out your faves and recommend some in a p.m or in a review :D**

**Until next time...**


	5. Aravis & Corin: Green

My eyes fluttered open, but snapped shut again rapidly as I was hit by a sharp burst of white light. I groaned, raising a hand to my forehead, and then opened my eyes more cautiously, allowing them to become accustomed to the brightness of the room. And then I gasped quietly, finally noticing the lean figure draped on an armchair at the side of my bed.

I allowed my hand to fall on his head. "Cor," I whispered, brushing his hair lightly.

Cor sleepily opened his eyes. With a start, I jerked back my hand, for it wasn't Cor at all.

To the untrained eye, the man before me could have been either Cor or Corin. However, Cor didn't have a tiny, almost unnoticeable mole under his left ear, nor did he have deeply etched dimples on his cheeks, nor did he have a scar in one of his eyebrows- courtesy of a sparring incident with me years ago.

"You're... you're awake," Corin spluttered, jumping up abruptly, his relief extremely evident. "Thank Aslan!"

I gestured weakly to him with my hand, beckoning him to my side. I struggled to sit up, scrabbling at the sheets. Corin hurried forward and placed a hand on my back. He put his other hand under my arm and then gently pulled me up, leaning me on the pillows against the headboard. I winced at the painful tug on my ankle.

"Oh!" I gasped.

"What's wrong?"Corin said immediately, placing the back of his hand on my forehead. "Do you want me to call someone? Your ankle's twisted so don't strain it. I think you still have a fever. She said it had brok-"

I knocked his hand of my face. "Don't touch me!"

Corin winced, reaching towards me warily. "Aravis I-"

I narrowed my eyes, mustering all my strength, and slapped him around the face.

By my standards, it was a pretty weak slap. I had hit the twins enough times in my lifetime to know which ones actually had an impact. It was common knowledge that I had caused the loss of Cor's final baby tooth when we were twelve.

Corin didn't even stumble in surprise or wince in pain. But there _was_ a satisfyingly red hand print on his cheek- the disadvantage of having pale, almost porcelain skin.

"Now that you've helped me up, I don't see any reason for you to stay here any longer," I said coldly, clasping my hands together and placing them in my lap. I knew that I probably looked like Death warmed over, but I was determined to retain a little dignity.

He stared at me for a moment and then sighed. "I guess I deserved that."

I didn't reply for a moment.

"Do you expect me to disagree with you?" I said finally, raising an eyebrow.

"Aravis, I understand that you're angry-"

"No, actually Corin, that's an understatement," I said, impatiently brushing a wispy curl out of my eyes. "I'm livid."

"I didn't ask you to come after me," Corin snapped, standing up and pacing at the foot of my bed. "How stupid could you be? Alone... in a storm!"

I flushed angrily. "Alone in a storm like you, you mean? You can't possibly think that I would've stayed at the palace twiddling my thumbs while you could have been lying unconscious in a ditch somewhere. If your father was there he would have done the exact same thing!"

I froze, the words catching in my throat. "Oh, Aslan, I didn't mean to say that...," I trailed off.

Corin looked as though he'd been struck. He turned away, his body tensing and his hands involuntarily clenching into tight fists. I gripped the blanket as I waited for him to speak. _What a stupid, stupid thing to say._ The silence in the room became oppressive; the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as a particularly chilly breeze swept the room from the open window.

"Say something," I said, tentatively, mentally screaming at myself for being so thoughtless.

He remained quiet for a moment. All that could be heard was the fluttering of the curtains as they flapped in the wind, and the yells of men outside as they repaired the damage wreaked by the storm.

"That was a low blow," he said finally, the words barely above a whisper, but just as icy. "You have no right to use my _dead _father against me," he continued, his voice stumbling when he said the word 'dead'.

I swallowed but tilted my chin up defiantly. "I needed to say something that would actually have an impact on that thick skull of yours. Do you have any idea the effect your little disappearing act had on everybody yesterday? And all because, for once in your life, you couldn't act like the man that you're supposed to be. Instead, you behaved like a petulant little boy, running away as soon as things become too difficult for you to handle."

He spun around, and in two swift strides, he walked back to the bed and grabbed my arm in an iron grip. "How dare you," he snarled. "I am a Prince of Archenland and you will address me as such."

I gasped, more out of fear than pain. I scrabbled at his fingers, by eyes tearing up.

"You don't know anything about what it's like to lose your father," Corin continued, even more viciously than before. "You were more than happy to throw yours aside and gallivant off to the North."

The initial shock was wearing off, and the pain in my arm slowly became more and more prominent.

"I have sat aside for years and allowed you to speak to my brother and me rudely and insultingly. Cor may be able to stand it, but I'm not my brother. Just because I have not commented on your manner in the past, does not mean that you have the right to overstep the mark."

"Corin, you're hurting me," I blurted out. I could almost feel the skin on my arm bruising easily under Corin's firm grasp.

Something flashed in Corin's eyes. Realisation? Recognition? I couldn't decipher the emotion, but all of a sudden, he let go of my arm and I fell back into the cushions. He strode to the other end of the room, towards one of the windows, and shoved the curtain aside, breathing deeply.

I wrenched the sleeve of my shirt up, and sure enough, the skin was becoming redder. Soon enough I'd be sporting a very fashionable purpling bruise. I swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat.

I couldn't blame Corin for reacting as he had. I'd been provoking him, and he was right; I did overstep the mark. I pulled the sleeve down again. I'd have to put aside my summer gowns for a little while until the bruise faded. If Cor saw it...

"I'm sorry," Corin whispered, still staring out of the window. "I... I don't know what came over me. I had no right to say those things."

"I think," I replied, slowly, "that we both said things we shouldn't have. You were right; I shouldn't have used King L... I mean your father, against you like that."

Corin lowered his head, his body beginning to shake. I hated to see him like that. So broken. So devastated. The Corin I knew would've preferred to be my slave for the rest of his life than to appear weak in front of anyone. It frightened me to see what King Lune's death had reduced him to.

Gritting my teeth against the pain in my ankle, I swept my legs off the bed, and gripped the edge with my hands. I stood, wobbling slightly, but holding onto the nightstand until I was standing steadily. I then limped my way to the prince, my nightgown brushing against my legs in the breeze. I stopped when I reached him, uncertainly reaching towards his slumped back.

"You have no idea what was running through my head when you didn't come back," I said slowly, placing a hand on his shoulder. His body was shuddering with suppressed sobs under my touch. "I just kept imagining you being struck down by a tree, or unconscious in a rut. And no one would help me look for you. Not- not even Cor."

Corin didn't say anything.

"I... I know I say things that I shouldn't sometimes. But it's not because I'm trying to challenge your authority, or make you feel less like a prince. I love you as though you're my own brother, and honestly, I wouldn't know what to do without you."

Nothing.

"Corin, please," I pleaded.

Finally, Corin turned around slowly, raising his gaze to meet mine.

"I know you're suffering, but so is Cor... so am I," I said, holding his gaze. "We need each other. At least you still have your privacy; Cor has the eyes of the court, as well as the people on him now. He can't even mourn in peace- at least not until the coronation. He needs his brother."

"After what I did yesterday, I doubt he wants to be anywhere near me," Corin said, his eyes dark with shame. "Especially after you... after what happened to you."

"He couldn't possibly blame that on you," I said, waving a hand dismissively. "It was because of me and my stupid impulsive nature that I was even in the forest last night. If he chastises you for my idiocy, I'll just have to beat some sense into him."

Corin's lips curved upwards slightly.

"Where is Cor anyway," I said, furrowing my eyebrows. "Call me selfish, but I... well I suppose, I thought he'd be here."

Corin's smile faltered. "Well, he was," he said, carefully. "When they brought you in, he was furious. I'm not surprised, of course. There I was, soaked to the skin, carrying your unconscious body. Cor yelled at everyone in sight; Tinis, Aliyah, the guards, and me, obviously."

"So, where is he?"

"He...er... well, he," Corin paused, unsure how to continue. "He stayed for hours. Then, when the doctor said that you'd make a full recovery and that you'd be awake soon, he left."

"What do you mean he left?"

"He's locked himself in his room. Refuses to come out."

"Again?" I said, huffing disbelievingly.

"I'm sorry, Aravis," Corin said, quietly. "Cor and I are very different-"

"Oh, really?" I interrupted, rolling my eyes. "I hadn't noticed."

Corin smiled, weakly. "What I mean is, whereas I tend to storm out of situations I can't handle, Cor locks himself away and hopes the situation resolves itself."

"This can't be healthy, Corin," I said, worriedly, crossing my arms. "He can't just sit and wallow in his misery. He's about to become King. His coronation is next week."

"He just needs time," Corin said, reassuringly. "He just needs a little time. Then he'll just pick himself up and brush himself off."

I stared at him. "When did you become so wise?"

Corin laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment and not an insinuation that I wasn't wise before," he said, before pausing. "Look, just leave him to his own devices for a while. He just needs to... mourn in his own way."

"And what about you?" I replied slowly.

Corin sighed, his body tensing again almost unnoticeably. "What about me?"

"Don't you need time to mourn?"

Corin didn't reply for a moment. "Do you know where I went yesterday?" he asked, finally.

"I was too busy collapsing and fainting in the middle of a forest at the peak of a rainstorm," I said dryly.

"Touché," Corin laughed.

He walked back towards the window, leaning his elbows on the sill and cupping his face in his hands.

"There's a meadow, at the edge of the forest," he said, pointing towards the woods. "Father used to take me there, all the time, before you and Cor came."

"How come we've never been there?" I said, furrowing my eyebrows.

"I... I told Father not to."

I didn't reply, my face twisted with confusion. I set my arms on the sill, next to Corin's. "Right then. I'm not quite sure how to respond to that."

Corin sighed. "It's not out of... malice, or spite. It's just..." he trailed off.

"It's just what?" I prodded, gently.

"It was our place," Corin said, almost as though he was speaking to himself. "In my mind, only the two of us were allowed to go there." He turned towards me. "You understand, right? I love the pair of you but I had to share everything when you arrived. I was just so used to having Father all to myself, that it was hard to have to let others into my life. I just wanted one thing to myself. So I told Father to keep the meadow a secret."

I nodded slowly, turning my gaze back to the view outside. "So, you went to the meadow and...?"

"That's it," Corin replied, smiling.

"That's... it?"

"You asked me if I need to mourn," he elaborated, his eyes downcast. "Well I already have. When I was at the meadow, it was as though Father was right there with me. It felt like those afternoons we spent every week sword-fighting in the clearing there, just me and him, separated from everyone."

"And?"

"And I realised what my problem was all along."

"Oh?"

Corin nodded in reply. "The reason I was so distraught, so uncontrollable, was because I didn't know what to do without him. My father was my rock, my hero... Archenland's King," he said, wistfully. "I'm lost without him."

I placed my hand over his. "You have us."

He smiled at me, covering my hand with his other. "I know. That's what I realised."

At my perplexed look, he continued hastily. "When I was in that clearing, I could almost feel Father there."

"Feel him?"

"His presence, his spirit- whatever you want to call it. And he was telling me that I simply have to... let him... go."

"And, you can do that?"

Corin grinned at me, his face lighting up and his dimples crinkling endearingly. "You know what, I think I can." He turned fully towards me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Because I have you and Cor."

* * *

"The delegations will begin arriving within a week or so in preparation for the coronation. What are we to do without Prince Cor."

I sighed, placing my head in my hands and raking my hair with my fingers. "Let's worry about that once the delegations have arrived."

"But Your Highness-"

I held up a hand. "Prince Cor is not currently in a position to organise the ceremony. Until he is in a well enough state to shoulder the responsibility of handling the dignitaries who will be arriving, I will be handling any details."

Tinis and Ghalda exchanged worried glances. Great. They think I'm an irresponsible failure who is useful for absolutely nothing.

"Just trust me," I said, tiredly.

This meeting had been dragging along for hours. I'd left Aravis asleep in her bedroom earlier that afternoon. Now, it was nearly midnight, and so far, we'd been discussing coronation robes, crown fittings and convenient dates, amongst a thousand other things. My head was pounding, the result of the stifling heat in the room and the mountain of paperwork on the desk before me.

"Prince Corin," Ghalda began, "We are both aware of your capabilities, but to be frank, your brother has been preparing for years for this. He has been taught in the ways of a King. There is far too much ground to be covered, and not a whole lot of time."

"Well what do you expect me to do Ghalda," I snapped, scraping my chair back and getting up. "Would you like me to ram his bedroom door open? Do you want me to lock him in a room and order him to work when he should be mourning our dead father?"

Ghalda flinched. "Your Highness, that wasn't what I meant."

"Enough," I roared. "Just enough!"

Ghalda fell silent immediately.

"Prince Cor is incapacitated and there is nothing we can do about it. We simply have to do the best we can. Is that understood?"

Tinis and Ghalda nodded mutely.

Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud crack. Two guards rushed in, their eyes wild. Their swords weren't in their sheaths, but rather held before them, as though expecting a crazed madman to jump out from behind a pillar.

"What's the matter?" I demanded, my heart sinking. "What's happened."

"It's the Lady Aravis Your Highness," one of them cried.

"Is she unwell," I asked, rushing towards the door.

"No Your Highness."

I stopped, my forehead crinkling in confusion. "Then what is it? Spit it out already!"

They looked at each other before the same guard spoke again. "Her room has been destroyed, Your Highness. All the windows are open, her bed hangings have been slashed, there's something that looks like blood on the floor, and..." he trailed off.

I swallowed. "And?"

The guard lowered his gaze. "She's missing."

* * *

**A/N: Oh dear, it's been a looong time since I updated. I'm extremely sorry but life has been ridiculously busy. I'm on Easter holidays now so I finally got an opportunity to get this chapter done. I did get a few messages asking if I've abandoned the story. Erm... no. I'm practically obsessive-compulsive about getting things completed, so I will _never_ leave a story unfinished.**

**To be quite honest, I'm not particularly ecstatic about this chapter. I would really appeciate some constructive criticism because I'm not sure this chapter's really up to par. It may seem like a bit of a filler, but I assure you, it is very important. And finally- the real plot begins! Where's Aravis? Kidnapped? If so, by whom? Well you'll just have to find out next time. This chapter's colour is green, which symbolises new beginnings- I associate green with Corin finally accepting his Father's death and realising that life isn't over. That's all I have to say for now so please read and review!**

**P.S Thank you to the couple of readers who actually gave me the names of the pandora charms they liked for my mum's Christmas present- that was really thoughtful :)**


	6. Cor & Corin: White

It was cold.

That was the first thing I noticed.

And it unnerved me. In all the years I'd known Aravis, her room had always been warm; almost bordering on uncomfortably so. Perhaps it was her Calormene nature. Perhaps she simply didn't like the cold. But the room was always warm. Always.

The chamber had been completely destroyed. The embroidered bed hangings that she had made herself were in tatters, the remains hanging forlornly off the sheets; her books and personalised stationery were scattered haphazardly across the desk; the curtains had been slashed, and her bedside oil lamp was lying broken on the floor. It was obvious that some sort of struggle had taken place in here.

I swallowed audibly and looked up at Corin. He was running his hands through his hair, his eyes wide and frightened. That in itself should have told me that something was wrong. Apart from the... incident at Father's funeral, Corin was never frightened. Perhaps on the inside he was, but he never allowed his emotions to surface- unless, of course, that emotion was anger. Emotions were for the weak. That was the philosophy he had always followed.

"What is it?" I asked apprehensively, my voice higher than usual.

He didn't answer. He just kept staring at the same spot on the sheets. My heart racing, I walked forward, attempting to maintain some sort of authority. I was pretty certain that my advisors already believed that I was incompetent and emotional; if I allowed myself to collapse in front of them, any lingering respect that they had for me would disintegrate. I lowered my eyes to the bed.

I stifled a cry of horror as I finally looked at what my brother had been staring at so intently.

There was blood everywhere.

Soaking through the pillows. Seeping into the comforter. Staining the feathers that had tumbled out of the torn pillows.

When the guards had told me that there was blood, I hadn't expected there to be this much.

I turned away, nauseous, bile rising in the back of my throat. I stumbled out onto the balcony and took in deep gulps of air, trying to stop myself from vomiting violently. I blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall, and clutched my stomach, attempting to calm its roiling contents.

I felt a soothing hand on my shoulder. "Breathe, Cor," Corin whispered, rubbing my back firmly. "Just breathe."

"Dear Aslan," I gasped, "What did they do to her?"

"It looks worse than it is," Corin replied reassuringly, but the uncertainty in his voice couldn't be disguised.

"How does it look worse than it is?" I spat, panting heavily. "My betrothed has been kidnapped and there is blood all over her bed. No one can lose that much blood without there being some sort of serious damage."

"It may not even be her blood," Corin ventured. "You've seen the state of the room; they took her fighting. She didn't just sit back and allow them to do as they wished. She gave as good as she got."

I turned around to face him, my eyes widening suddenly in confusion. "What I want to know is, how could all this have taken place without anyone realising? Where were her guards?"

Corin lowered his head, his eyes darkening. "They... they were guarding the area below your bedroom balcony."

"What!" I hissed in horror. "What did you think? That I was going to jump of my bloody balcony?"

"What did you expect me to think?" Corin retaliated, his voice rough with aggravation. "You were refusing to come out of your room, you weren't eating; there was a very good chance that you were suicidal. I didn't know what state of mind you were in, and I didn't want to take the risk that you would do something stupid."

"So you reassigned her guards," I shouted, grabbing the front of his tunic. "You stupid, stupid boy. If it wasn't for you, she might still be here."

I'd had the advantage of surprise but Corin quickly regained control of his senses and grabbed my forearms. With alarming strength, he twisted them behind my back and pushed me against the side of the balcony, forcing the edge to jut painfully into my stomach.

"This is not the time or the place," he spat. "What has already happened is irrelevant. All that is important is finding her before..."

... before something happens to her. I finished the sentence in my head. Corin roughly let me go and stalked back inside, Ghalda, Tinis and the guards watching him warily.

I followed him slowly, ignoring the disapproving gazes of the others in the chamber, and sank into one of Aravis's armchairs before my knees gave way. I placed my elbows on my knees and buried my hands in my hair. Corin leaned against the door, determinedly refusing to look at me.

I took in a shuddering breath. "What do we know so far?" I asked, directing the question at no one in particular.

Tinis sighed in response. "Not much, Your Highness. She was brought in from the forest last night, as you know. She was treated in here and then was asleep until noon. Prince Corin stayed with her until supper, after which he was with Ghalda and myself, finalising preparations for the coronation."

My head snapped up. "What?" I said, my brow furrowing. "You were in here for seven hours?"

Corin gave me a hard look. "Since you were otherwise occupied, someone had to keep her company," he said coldly, the words quiet but still loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room.

I tensed. Everybody in the room froze, looking from Corin, to me, and back again, waiting for one of us to make the first move. The tension in the room was claustrophobic, shrouding everyone like a heavy mist.

"And after supper?" I said finally, through gritted teeth, deciding to ignore Corin's remark, and continue to question Tinis.

"Ah, well, yes, one of the maids brought some supper up for her, and collected the tray about an hour later," Tinis said, stammering.

"And that's all?"

"Erm... no. Some of the staff claim that Althaia, the Royal Nurse who was treating Lady Aravis's ankle, came up to check on her, and gave her something to help her sleep."

"Wait a minute," I said, rising from the chair. "If she was given a drug to help her sleep, then she wouldn't have awoken when the kidnappers came. So then why does it look like there's been a struggle in here?"

Tinis looked at Ghalda helplessly.

"Perhaps it simply wore off a little quicker than anticipated, Your Highness," Ghalda suggested.

I scoffed. "It's nearly midnight now," I replied. "So are you telling me that this drug that was supposed to keep her asleep till tomorrow morning wore off in a matter of hours?"

"We can ask Althaia about the strength of the sleeping potion, Prince Cor," Tinis said after a moment.

"Yes, I think you'd better do that," I replied coldly, turning my back on them and surveying the room carefully.

I heard a nervous cough, and then shuffling feet, followed by the quiet click of the door closing.

"If they come back and say that the potion was supposed to keep her awake until the morning, you know what that means, don't you," I said quietly.

"Yes," Corin sighed. "It means that someone else must have been in here. And the kidnappers either took that person too, or they're still in the castle somewhere."

I nodded slowly. "But who?"

"Kitchen staff perhaps. Maybe another nurse."

Corin and I waited in the tense silence, refusing to look at each other, and refusing to speak, as we waited for the advisors to return. I occupied myself playing with my engagement ring, twirling it between my fingers. I'd started wearing it shortly before Father's funeral, the feel of the cool metal reminding me that even though Father was gone, Aravis would still be with me... forever. Or so I thought.

The door slammed as Tinis and Ghalda came hurrying back inside.

"Your Highnesses," Tinis wheezed. "According to the castle staff, no one has seen Althaia since she went to tend to Lady Aravis."

"Well I suppose that answers that," I replied grimly.

* * *

"What is it?" Cor squinted staring at the scrap of fabric in my hand.

"It looks so familiar," I replied, suppressing my frustration. "I'm certain I've seen it somewhere before- if I could just remember where!"

"Take your time Corin," Cor coaxed. "Have you shown it to anyone else?"

"Yes," I replied, "but none of them recognise it."

"What about one of the lords who run foreign affairs?"

"They've all gone to Terebinthia to soothe Cyrus's ruffled feathers," I said pointedly. "Apparently they'd heard rumours that Cyrus's troops were mobilising and they wanted to nip the situation in the bud before it got any further. They left early yesterday morning."

"Is it something we should be concerned about?" Cor asked, worriedly.

I shook my head slowly. "I shouldn't think so. His army is about an eighth the size of ours. It would be suicide. That man is mostly bravado- I've rarely seen him actually carry out any of his threats."

Cor looked at me strangely. "When did you become so... diplomatic?"

I smiled slightly. "It's amazing how much Ghalda and Tinis can teach the most unwilling of students in desperate circumstances."

Cor paused. "I'm sorry, Corin," he said finally.

I nodded, not needing him to elaborate any further. "It's fine. I understand. Just... don't do it anymore, alright?"

"Alright," Cor replied solemnly. "Now let's get back to work."

One of the guards had found a scrap of coloured fabric under Aravis's bed a few hours earlier. It looked as though it had been torn away from a piece of clothing, but the painstakingly embroidered symbol on it was still as visible as day. Cor and I had been so thrilled by the new discovery, that our vicious fight on Aravis's balcony was forgotten in a matter of moments. I was so sure that I knew what the symbol meant. It was buried in my memory somewhere, but I just couldn't seem to dig deep enough to find it. What I couldn't understand was why I found the symbol so familiar, but Cor didn't.

I slammed down the reference book on the table in frustration. "This is all my fault," I said, lowering my head and staring at my lap, shame-faced. "You were right. If I hadn't reassigned her guards, she would still be here." I continued, bitterly, "That's what I get for trying to act like a King."

Cor grabbed my shoulder roughly. "Stop it," he said firmly. "Just stop. No one is to blame. The sooner we accept that, the better." His eyes softened. "Look... the best advice any man ever gave me is something I will never forget, and I think it's time you learn the same lesson. The king's son of Archenland should not hang his head like a Calormene slave."

My head snapped up. "That's it," I whispered.

"What's what?" Cor replied in confusion.

"That's where I've seen the symbol before," I replied excitedly. "It's the symbol of the Tisroc's inner sanctum."

"What?"

"It's true," I said, vehemently. "The Tisroc's most trusted advisors wore that patch on their clothes. It separated them from the less trustworthy nobles. I saw them when Edmund and Susan used to drag me off to their meetings in Tashbaan, when they couldn't occupy me elsewhere."

"The Calormenes did this?" Cor hissed. "But why?"

"Do the Calormenes ever need an excuse to do anything?" I snorted.

Cor banged his hand on the table. "The Mai!" he cried.

"Sorry?" I replied, confused.

"We took the Mai region from them a couple of months ago. Invaded it because we heard of the mistreatment of Northern immigrants in the region. The Tisroc was livid, but there was little he could do apart from declaring war. It's a massive area, you see, and it has incredibly fertile lands. The Calormenes lost a huge source of mineral wealth."

"But why take Aravis?"

"Perhaps he intends to hold her for ransom until we return the Mai. Word must have spread by now that she is to be the new Queen of Archenland. He must've realised that he could use that to his advantage."

"But kidnapping a noblewoman of Aravis's standing can be used by us as a reason for declaring war. And although Calormen's army is significantly larger than say, Terebinthia, or Galma, our army is still superior."

"Yes, but under law, the Tisroc is not doing anything wrong."

"What?"

Cor nodded solemnly. "Although she lives in Archenland, she is still a citizen of Calormen until she is married. It's an ancient law, but still very much in use. Whenever the Tisroc's influential opponents flee to other countries for safety, assuming that they're Calormene, he can implement the law and get them sent back so that he can execute them."

"But why kidnap Aravis? Why not just implement the law and take her with our consent rather than taking her in the middle of the night, kicking and screaming?"

"As if we'd ever consent to such a thing," Cor scoffed. "Law or no law, the Tisroc knows that we'd put up a fight, and obviously, he wasn't the sure that it would be a fight that he could win. So he steals Aravis away, and that gives him time to get her back to Calormen without us being able to stop him. Now, he can use her as leverage."

"So what are we to do now?" I asked.

"We have to find a way of getting her back from Calormen," Cor replied carefully.

"But... but can't we just return the Mai?" I said. "Is it really that important? Archenland managed all these years without it."

Cor shook his head, his expression pained. "There's no guarantee that he'd give her back if we return the Mai. He could just keep increasing his demands until all our territories our gone. And what about the people in the Mai? The Tisroc slaughtered thousands of them just because they were 'pale-skinned barbarians'. We can't send them back to their deaths."

"But then how are we supposed to get her back?"

"We go to Tashbaan ourselves."

"What?" I said, aghast. "We can't do that. Besides, our guards will attract too much attention."

"That's why we'll go without them," Cor replied. "I lived in Calormen for years; I know the ways of the people. If we can manage to get into the Tisroc's palace, we might be able to find out where Aravis is being held. Then we smuggle her out of the country."

"If we're caught, the Tisroc will burn us alive," I said, tugging my hair nervously. "We'd be intruding upon his territory without having informed him of our arrival, so by law, he can do what he wishes with is. And even if we do manage to escape successfully with Aravis, once he realises that she's gone, he'll implement that law and force us to return her."

"We'll refuse," Cor said. "What can he do? Declare war? Apart from Narnia, Archenland is the most powerful country in the world. We are perfectly capable of defeating the Calormenes, and the Tisroc knows that. He wouldn't risk war just for a strip of land."

I swallowed. "So when do you want us to leave?"

"Within the next week," Cor replied after a moment. "If our assumptions are correct, the Tisroc will begin sending his demands soon. We'll have Ghalda and Tinis negotiate with him until we return; keep him occupied for some time without actually finalising any decisions. That should keep him at bay for a few months at least."

"They'll never agree to this."

"They don't have much choice," Cor replied immediately. "I am to be King soon, and as such, they must do as I say."

"Speaking of which, what are we to do about your coronation?"

"Postpone it," Cor replied. "I don't intend to become King unless Aravis is with me."

I nodded. "Fine. But let us inform the Narnians as well. We can at least send for some more help if the situation becomes truly hopeless."

"Good idea. I'll begin the preparations within the hour," he said, standing up from the desk.

Just as he was about to walk towards the door, someone rapped sharply on it.

"Come in," Cor replied.

Ghalda hurried in, with a mousy, timid young girl in tow. She was wearing a uniform; a grey pinafore over a white tunic, and a bonnet tied neatly around her hair. But although her uniform was neat and ordered, her face was restless, her eyes darting around the room, and her face pale and sallow with anxiety.

"I understand that this is unorthodox, Your Highnesses," Ghalda began, "but Athaia's apprentice, Paise, wishes to speak to Prince Cor urgently. She... she says that it concerns the Lady Aravis.

Cor tensed visibly. "Well?" he asked the girl impatiently.

"Forgive me Your Highness," the girl, Paise, said, "but this information is for your ears only." She glances quickly at Ghalda and me.

Cor nodded slowly. "Ghalda, if you would excuse us please."

Ghalda looked quite put out, but nodded nevertheless, and backed out of the room, closing the door slightly louder than necessary.

"You can trust my brother," Cor said kindly. "Whatever you say shall not leave this room."

Paise nodded, her eyes wide and frightened. "When the Lady Aravis was brought in from the forest, Athaia and I were examining her. We wanted to ensure that she wasn't suffering from any conditions that could impact the drugs that we wanted to give her. Like the flu."

Cor furrowed his eyebrows but gestured at her to continue. Paise swallowed before continuing. "As were inspecting her, we noticed that her belly was swollen."

I froze. Cor's eyes widened in horror at the implications of what the girl had just said.

Paise lowered her gaze. "It had been hidden by the heaviness of her skirts, so no one had noticed. At first, we thought that perhaps it was some sort of growth... but we questioned Lady Aravis soon after she woke." She looked at me. "If you remember Prince Corin, we asked you to leave the room for a few minutes while we tended to her."

I nodded in affirmation at Cor.

"After we asked her about the bump, she admitted the whole thing to us," Paise said, sadly.

I closed my eyes, willing her to not say anything else. But of course, I knew she would.

"Lady Aravis is with child."

* * *

**A/N: Ooooh, another cliffhanger. :D Wow, two updates in a week. I hope that makes up for me being M.I.A for the last couple of months. This chapter's colour is white, which is virginal, pure and untainted; I just kinda liked that irony. :P So, the twins have a plan, and the plot is finally starting to unfold. We'll get the reactions to Aravis's pregnancy in the next chapter...**

**Oh yes, I just wanted to say thank you to HunkyDory, if she happens to be reading this, as she's the only reviewer I haven't replied to, because... well, I don't know if she's a member. But yes, thanks a lot- your review made my day! And thank you to everyone who took the time to review this story and my other related story 'An Unwilling Helper'.**

**I will attempt to update soon, but my holidays finish at the end of this week, and I have a ten hour drama exam, beginning Monday. :S So, just as a warning, updates may be infrequent for a while.**

**Please read and review! Let me know if you can spot any holes in my made up laws, and please point out even the most minor grammatical errors so that I can put them right.**


	7. Cor & Corin: Brown

**Disclaimer: I've just realised that I haven't put up a disclaimer at all as the word 'fanfiction' is pretty self-explanatory, but just to be on the safe side, I OWN NOTHING. NARNIA BELONGS TO CLIVE STAPLES (yes, Staples) LEWIS. **

**I don't plan on any other disclaimers so enjoy this one.**

* * *

Corin grabbed his heaviest tunic, stuffing it into his satchel. His gaze was directed downwards, and he was determinedly avoiding looking at me. His face was flushed and his body tense, his movements stiff and jerky.

I looked at him, unseeing. My head was swimming, as though I'd been hit over the head by a mallet. My hands were clenched into tight fists- so tight that my nails were digging into my palms, creating painful white dents that almost broke the skin.

"Are you just going to sit there or are you going to pack?" Corin said, without looking at me. His voice was quiet, but I could hear the suppressed anger in it.

I didn't answer. I opened my mouth but nothing seemed to come out. My vision blurred and I dropped my head into my hands, swallowing thickly.

Suddenly, I felt rough hands grab my shoulders and heave me up.

"What's wrong with you?" Corin spat, his nose inches from mine. "Stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself and start packing."

He let go of me abruptly, and disoriented, I fell back into his armchair. Corin stormed back to his bed and began to haphazardly stuff maps and books into his satchel.

"Corin, please..." I murmured weakly. My words came out as nothing more than a whimper.

"Please?" Corin hissed, spinning around angrily. "Do you expect me to feel sympathy for you after what you've done you stupid, stupid fool?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," I pleaded, desperate for him to understand.

He grabbed me by the neck of my tunic, pulling me off the chair again. "Didn't mean for what to happen?" he snarled.

"Corin, don't," I replied, closing my eyes so that I wouldn't be forced to look at him.

"Don't what?" Corin retaliated, clutching the fabric of my tunic even more tightly. "What didn't you _mean_ to happen? Didn't you _mean_ for your desires to take over all rational thought? Didn't you _mean_ for Aravis to fall into your bed? Didn't you _mean_ for her to end up in the clutches of Calormenes, while she's _with child_?"

"It wasn't like that," I protested, weakly.

Corin let go of me with a disgusted snort. "Do you even understand the implications of what you've done? She's in danger as it is, and her condition has just made the situation a hundred times more volatile! And if we do manage to get her back here in one piece, do you know the things they'll say about her in the court? They'll say she trapped you, that she forced you into marriage so that she wouldn't have a child outside wedlock-"

"That's not true!"

"You know that, and I know that, but do you think that's going to stop rumours from spreading like wildfire? Stop being so naive, Cor, and open your eyes! Because of your idiocy, Aravis is Aslan knows where, months away from having a child! _Your child_!"

I finally snapped.

"Stop it!" I yelled. "Just stop it! You don't understand! I didn't mean for this to happen. If I could go back... if I could have foreseen what would have happened-"

"But you can't!" Corin yelled back. "You can't!"

"Don't you think I know that?" I retorted, raking my hands through my hair, my eyes wide and frenzied. "Do you have any idea how guilty I feel? How ashamed? I let Aravis down. I let everyone down! And I hate myself for it!"

"Then stop sitting here feeling sorry for yourself," Corin snarled, giving me one last disgusted glance before storming out of the room.

* * *

"_There you are!" I gave a sigh of relief, peering into the darkness of the cellar._

_Aravis looked up, her face half-hidden by shadow. "Here I am," she replied softly._

_I frowned as she turned her face away again, looking down at her lap. Placing my hand on the side of the rusty staircase, I warily made my way down, testing each step lightly before stepping down. _

"_What on earth are you doing down here?" I huffed. "I'll tell you this, Ara, it certainly doesn't do my ego any good when my betrothed runs away to hide in the deepest depths of the castle once she agrees to marry me."_

"_I like the sound of that," Aravis replied, her face still looking down, but I could make out the shape of her lips curving slightly._

"_What? The sound of my deflating ego?"_

_Aravis laughed. But it didn't sound right. It sounded brittle... and forced. "No... 'betrothed'," she said, emphasising the last word. "I must say, it rather has nice ring to it."_

_I smiled, kneeling on the dusty ground beside her, my leggings rubbing up against the dust and grime on the stone slabs. "I'm glad you think so."_

_Aravis shifted, moving her legs beside her, and draping her skirts over them carefully. She leaned against the wall tiredly, closing her eyes with a soft sigh. Moonlight filtered in through the bars of sole window in the cellar, landing softly on Aravis's face. It was then I realised, with a jolt, that her face was tearstained._

"_Aravis?" I said, softly, placing my hand on her cheek and turning her face towards me. "What's wrong?"_

_She turned away again, hiding her face from me. "Nothing."_

"_Really?" I said, incredulously. "Why don't you try telling me a more believable lie?"_

"_I just don't feel like talking about it."_

"_Is that so? Well that's definitely not something that's ever come out of your mouth before," I teased light-heartedly, but my eyebrows were furrowed in confusion. _

_Aravis didn't answer._

_I suddenly went cold. "You're not... having second thoughts are you?" _

_Her head snapped towards me immediately. "Of course not- don't be ridiculous, Cor."_

_I suppressed a sigh of relief. "So what's wrong? Please tell me... is it something I've done?"_

"_Oh for goodness's sake, Cor," Aravis snapped, irritably, "everything does not revolve around you, you know!"_

_There was silence, as I stared at her, trying to hide my hurt expression._

_She sighed. "I'm sorry," she said._

_I nodded slowly. "It's fine. I should be getting back inside, anyway. I promised Corin I'd help him with something. Just don't stay down here too long, or Father will send out a search party to look for you..."_

_I started getting to my feet, brushing my leggings down, when Aravis slipped a small hand into mine. _

"_Please don't," she whispered, her eyes tearing up again. "I'm sorry."_

_I knelt down again immediately, placing my hand in her hair. "Tell me what's wrong," I whispered, wiping the drying tears on her face away with my thumb._

_Aravis drew in a shuddering breath. "It's my father," she said, finally, her voice shaking._

"_What about him," I prompted, stroking her hair comfortingly._

_She buried her face in her hands, trying to suppress her sobs. "I just received word from one of my cousins," she said, her voice barely audible. "My father... my father passed away a few weeks ago."_

_I sighed, drawing her towards me and resting my head on hers. I rubbed her back soothingly, trying to calm her down._

"_She... she begged me to come to his funeral," Aravis cried, gripping the front of my tunic in her fists, "but the letter arrived too late. It was earlier this week, and I missed it."_

_She sobbed even harder, burying her face in my chest. _

"_Oh, Aravis," I whispered, kissing her hair softly, "You couldn't have known... This isn't your fault."_

"_You don't understand," she sobbed in reply. "He hated me. He truly hated me. I wrote to him over and over and he never replied. Do you know what it's like to be hated by your own father?"_

_I suppressed the rising fury inside me. How dare he? How dare that manipulative, old man treat her like that? He only ever saw Aravis as a pawn, a way of climbing his way up the social ladder. And when she left, he refused to acknowledge her as his daughter any more._

_I clutched her even tighter._

"_He hated me, and I- I didn't even get the chance to put things right with him," Aravis continued, her tears soaking through my clothes._

_I rocked her gently, trying to soothe her crying. I made soft shushing noises, navigating myself so that my back was against the wall and my arm was around her._

_Minutes passed quickly, and Aravis's crying slowly quietened. I continued to stroke her hair, my fingers idly brushing her cheek with every movement. She became so still that I thought she'd fallen asleep._

"_Aravis?"_

"_Mmm?"_

"_We should go upstairs. The others will be getting worried."_

_She shook her head immediately. "Not yet... please... just a little bit longer."_

_I sighed and looked down at her. I placed my hand on the side of her face and gently but firmly turned it towards me._

"_This is not your fault," I said to her, gently. "You can't blame yourself for leaving. And even though you feel guilty now, you did the right thing. If you hadn't left, you- you wouldn't have met me."_

_She smiled, slowly. "And that would be a real loss."_

_I laughed, kissing her hair in reply. Aravis looked at me again and shifted her body so that she was even closer, before kissing me softly. _

"_What was that for?" I asked, pulling away after a moment._

"_Do you really have to ask?" she replied, before kissing me again._

_Aravis kissed me fiercely, drawing me closer and closer, placing her arms around my neck and burying her fingers in my hair. Propriety had stopped her from doing so before, but that night, in an old cellar under the palace, the rules of etiquette had rather effectively been thrown out of the window._

_Rational thought eventually filtered into my brain through the haze of guilty pleasure. "Aravis, stop," I blurted, pulling away from her, breathing heavily._

_Aravis looked at me, breathless and flushed. I cursed my ruddy sense of morality. "What's wrong?" she asked, self-consciously._

"_Nothing, nothing," I reassured her. "But... but you're unhappy, and you're not in the right state of mind, and... and I don't want you to do something you'll regret," I finished._

_Aravis tilted her head to one side, stroking my cheek with her fingers. She then leaned forward until our noses were almost touching. "Whatever happens tonight- I won't regret any of it," she whispered, before drawing me in to kiss her again._

_And I let her._

* * *

Tinis had always been Father's most trusted advisor- well for at least as long as I had known him. He had been born in Terebinthia, but could not bear King Castulo's, Cyrus's father's, dictatorial rule. He had been disgusted by the corruption of the Terebinthian court, with many senior officials spending vast sums of money that had been taken through taxes, in order to maintain their own luxurious lifestyles. Father told me that Tinis had an innate need to make the world a better place, but as a poorly educated orphan from the slums, there had been no opportunity for him to gain a position of influence in Terebinthia.

With no money and no assets, the future seemed hopeless for Tinis, but at the age of sixteen, he stowed away on a cargo ship taking supplies to Archenland. After being discovered once the ship arrived in Agadra, Archenland's primary port, he was thrown off by the captain, with a clip around the ear, a bruised cheek, but a renewed sense of optimism.

He slept in doorways and under bridges for weeks, when one day, whilst trying to snatch some bread of a market-vendor's stall, he heard the loud trombones and co-ordinated steps of the Archenlandish army, signalling the arrival of the newly-crowned King Lune. He watched in awe as Father, a young man of only twenty years or so, sat proudly on his great white steed, and shook hands with peasants, bowed his head respectfully to washerwomen peering out of their windows, and tenderly kissed babies and toddlers that were thrust at him eagerly by his subjects.

Tinis walked, dazed, towards the King, unable to turn his eyes away from his imposing figure. As he neared his horse, he was thrust into the heaving throng of people trying to catch a glimpse of their new monarch. And it was then that he saw a peasant, coated in grime and dirt, menacingly withdraw a dagger from his tunic.

Tinis reacted instinctively. Throwing himself in front of the King's horse, he obstructed the assassin's path, and found the dagger buried into his stomach, just below his ribs.

Needless to say, Father considered himself forever in Tinis's debt. Tinis remained in a critical condition for weeks, but once he had fully recovered, Lune established him in a senior position in the court, and after a decade in Lune's inner circle, Tinis was finally promoted to the most enviable post in the palace: the King's personal advisor.

He was only a few years younger than Lune, so he'd seen a great deal during his time in the Royal Court of Archenland: giants attempting to storm Anvard; gryphons sneaking into the enormous courtyard in the dead of night and digging up the ground because they were convinced that the Royal Family had hidden gold there, and of course, the discovery of my long-lost brother, Cor. But in all his years in Archenland, I had never seen him as beside himself as he was when I finally informed him of Paise's revelation.

No-one really understands the importance of royal advisors. They can ignite wars, soothe aggressors, and command some of the most powerful men in the world. But in exchange for this power, they must accept that if anything goes awry in the kingdom, it's their head that'll end up on the chopping block. It became clear to me that this was exactly what Tinis feared.

Tinis had been what Father referred to as a 'bright spark': someone with overwhelming intelligence, bucketfuls of tact and astounding patience. Father often told me that he had been regarded as one of the most eligible bachelors in the court. Women would swoon when they saw his conventionally handsome features, with his high brow and strong chin- and they swooned even more when they leanred of his influence over the royal family.

But looking at the weary, defeated, old man before me, I could not see any similarity between him, and the charismatic protagonist of my Father's tales.

"Please, say something," I said, trying to hide my alarm at his slumped shoulders and beaten profile.

"This is simply too much, Your Highness," Tinis replied, finally.

"But there must be something we can do..." I pleaded, trying to suppress the rising panic in my voice.

Tinis rubbed his face wearily with a shaky hand, liver-spotted with age. "The way I see it," he began, "you have three choices."

"And they would be?"

"As callous as it may sound, you could leave Lady Aravis in Calormen."

"Out of the question," I said, angrily. "How could you even suggest that?"

+"I doubt that they would mistreat her, Your Highness. She is a high-ranking noblewoman, and she is one of their own," Tinis amended.

"A noblewoman who ran away to the North and intends to marry a white 'barbarian'. They'd make her life hell- punishment for what she did all those years ago."

Tinis sighed and nodded in agreement. "I understand."

"So, what's the second choice?" I prompted.

"If Lady Aravis was not with child, we could have negotiated openly with the Calormenes. Taking into consideration her condition however, we need to avoid publicising the abduction. The fewer details that are released, the better. The fewer people who know about the child, the better. We allow her to stay in Calormen until the child is born, and then we can send in troops to retrieve her... without the child. The court will be none the wiser."

"You can't be serious," I replied, incredulously. "You think that Aravis would leave her child in Calormen? What's to stop the Tisroc from revealing that Aravis had a child to the people? And even if he doesn't, the child will be raised as either a slave, or a lady of the evening."

"What is the alternative Your Highness?" Tinis said, his voice rising with agitation.

"Why not simply be open with the people?"

Tinis scoffed. "The court is already apprehensive about crowning Prince Cor. They feel he is too young, and they don't want a King who is incapable of ruling the country himself, and has an advisor manipulating him behind the scenes. The country is already in chaos after the incident with the Mai, and in the current political climate, we cannot afford any scandal. If anyone finds out that the potential heir to the throne of Archenland is a bastard, there will be a rebellion! Prince Cor's rivals in Parliament will put forward their case against him, and I fear there won't be a great deal of opposition."

"But who is to become King in Cor's place," I retorted. "No-one else is capable of taking the throne. Cor has been training for the position for years!"

Tinis hesitated. "Then there is a third choice."

I sighed. "And what would that be?"

"Prince Cor... Prince Cor refuses to recognise the child as his heir," Tinis said softly.

I sat down heavily in my armchair, trying to process what Tinis had just said.

"Please tell me that you did not just suggest that?" I said, slowly.

"Think about it, Your Highness," Tinis replied, sadly. "If Prince Cor chooses to recognise this child as the next monarch, his opponents will dig up old laws in the archives and convince Parliament that it has no right to the throne. The child can still live in the palace, it will have the same luxuries as an heir to the throne, but it legally won't be the Prince's child. That is a much better alternative to having a poor, helpless baby being ripped apart by politics."

"And would Cor still be allowed to marry Lady Aravis?"

"Of course," Tinis reassured me. "And any future children they may have will be recognised as legitimate heirs."

Tinis's option hung in the air, like a menacing question mark. There suddenly didn't seem to be enough air in the room and I breathed deeply, trying to the think rationally.

Would Cor even agree to what Tinis was suggesting? Would Aravis? By refusing to accept the child as his heir, he could lose Aravis as a result.

I turned to Tinis. "Our first priority is to bring Lady Aravis back," I said. "Besides, I cannot make any decisions for my brother. He is the only person who can decide what will happen. As far as this conversation goes, I do not want you to tell Cor any of what we have discussed. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Prince Corin."

"Let's find Aravis first," I continued. "When she is back in Anvard, safe and sound, we'll discuss the legalities of the situation."

* * *

**A/N: Hello there readers! I have fantastic news! My exams are finished, done, caput etc etc etc sooo, I'm going to have tons of time for writing. It is currently 2:30 am, I'm watching Big Brother, and the most useful thing I've done today is chuck out all my textbooks. Don't you just love summer?**

**Just to thank all the people who've bothered to read this, and have been waiting patiently through my erratic updates, I promise I will have another chapter uploaded by tomorrow... or, er... today. **

**Colour of the chapter, as you can see, is brown. Brown represents guilt and people who have brown auras usually feel as though they have done something immoral. Just to clarify, I have no issues with sex before marriage, and so I personally don't consider it immoral. I'm simply putting that opinion across in this story because I feel that it would have been the commonly-held belief in this society.**

**As always, please read and review!**


	8. Gold

"So you're telling me that the heir… _and_ the spare have wandered off to Aslan know's where- and Archenland has been left without a leader?"

"Refer to the princes in such a derogatory manner again, Baron, and I'm afraid we will have to remove you from the vicinity," Tinis responded coolly, shuffling the papers (unnecessarily) on the table before him, and then placing his hands carefully on his lap.

The Lord of Defence, Baron Rhys, snorted in disbelief. "Do you have any idea the kind of danger we're in at the moment? With the stunt that Prince Cor pulled with Cyrus, I wouldn't be surprised if Terebinthia made their move, now that both princes are gone and the country's in turmoil!"

"They rely on our trade," Ghalda cut in, hastily. "They wouldn't do something so foolish! And their troops are barely a fraction of ours."

"Yes, but Archenland has many enemies!" contributed Baron Waller, the Lord of Foreign Policy. "What if Cyrus were to contact the Tisroc? Calormen's troops are certainly not a fraction of ours."

"After the humiliation that Rabadash endured _last_ time they tried anything," Tinis replied, trying to hide his unease. "Doubtful."

"Not as doubtful as you may believe, Tinis," Rhys warned. "They've had a long time to stew… their humiliation would only have fuelled their anger- and their desire for revenge. If word got out that the Princes are missing-"

"They're not missing," Ghalda interjected.

"Well _incapacitated_ then," Rhys hurried on, irritably, "the Calormenes will not miss an opportunity to strike."

"And you also refuse to tell us where they are!" Waller added.

A murmur of assent swept through the room, as the other convening Lords nodded in agreement. Tinis swallowed. He knew that a Calormene invasion would only be the beginning of their worries. If the princes were correct, and the Tisroc wanted the Mai to be returned to Calormen, then a lot more was at stake than Archenland's safety: the lives of thousands of people for one.

"We can't simply tell the people nothing! They're going to notice soon enough that something's wrong- like the fact that a new King hasn't been crowned!"

"I'm afraid we'll have to invent something then," Tinis responded after a moment.

"_Invent_?" Baron Bahram, the Lord of Domestic Policy, looked horrified. "We can't lie to the people- they elected us because they want us to do what's best for them: not lie through our teeth!"

"We are doing what's best for them," Tinis replied, earnestly.

"How does that work?" Bahram looked at Tinis incredulously.

"If you visit a sick friend and tell them they're looking better, even if they aren't, isn't that a better course of action to take, rather than tell them they look awful?"

"You can't even compare the two situations," Bahram persisted. "Perhaps that philosophy could work in the short-term, but eventually the truth will get out, and we'll have to deal with the people- who won't appreciate being lied to."

"There's no point arguing your case to me, Baron," Tinis responded, holding up an authoritative hand. "I have strict orders from the princes that we are to tell the people that they're fighting the giants in the North. These kind of raids can last many months- no one will suspect anything."

"Months!" Waller cried. "And what are we to do without a leader in the meantime?"

"That will not be an issue," Ghalda said, quietly.

"Oh really?" Waller said, angrily. "Please enlighten me!"

Ghalda glanced at Tinis. "Because Princes Cor and Corin have named Tinis their Regent during their absence."

The room fell silent. And then the cries of anger rumbled through the Great Hall, until they reached a deafening peak. The doors to the Hall burst open as the guards from outside rushed in frantically.

Tinis glanced at one, who responded quickly by nodding to his companions. One by one, they formed a formidable circle around the Parliamentary table, towering in an intimidating manner over the seated Lords.

Little by little, the noise died away, reduced to sneers, smirks, and outright glares. Tinis cringed. If looks could kill…

He cleared his throat and rose from the table. He was not a tall man- which in these circumstances would have been somewhat of a help. Those with impressive statures, like King Lune, were more impressive; more regal. Lune had once told Tinis that it was not height that mattered- it was the impression of height. Chin up, shoulders down, back straight; that's all he needed.

"I understand that these circumstances are not ideal-" Tinis began.

There was a collective snort, as the Lords continued to look at Tinis as though there was something unpleasant under their noses.

Tinis sighed, but persevered. "At the end of the day, it does not matter what all of you say." He picked up a piece of parchment from the table and held it up in full view of the room. "I have here a binding agreement, signed by both Prince Cor and Prince Corin, naming me as Regent. Any objections would be welcome- along with your resignations from Parliament of course."

The Lords bristled with outrage. Ghalda looked at Tinis approvingly.

"I understand that I am not a member of the nobility," Tinis began more quietly, "but I have been a trusted advisor of the King for many years. No one can dispute my dedication to the Royal Family or to Archenland. This move is not a permanent one- but it's going to go forward with or without your approval. I hope that all of you will give this approval, as it makes matters much easier."

"Why should we?" cried Waller, standing up, his chair sliding back with an unpleasant screech.

The other Lords murmured in agreement: one entity, unified in the same belief.

"Because the Royals need us to keep the country running," Tinis stated, plainly. "It's as simple as that. I'm not here to make matters difficult- I am here because the Princes have requested my presence. You are all correct- we do face threats from Terebinthia, Galma, and countless other countries: but it's up to us to make sure Archenland stays standing. The Princes have left on an important mission- one which they did not want the whole world to be privy to, because of the negative consequences widespread knowledge could potentially have. They have left the country in the hands of their most trusted acquaintances and friends. And you're going to walk away? Why?"

Waller sat down, his moustache twitching. The tension had seeped out of the room to a more manageable level, but Tinis knew he was still on thin ice for the time being.

"Please," Tinis' voice softened to a pleading, beguiling whisper. "I am not a skilful politician, nor a man of many words. I do not know how to run a country, nor do I wish to shoulder this responsibility single-handedly. Help me guard Archenland from evil until the Princes return."

The room fell silent.

Ghalda glanced at me, a slight smile on her face. She leaned over as I sat down. "Nice touch with the vulnerability," she whispered, conspiratorially. "You'll have them eating out of your palm."

"Let's hope so," I murmured, before leaning back in my chair, and placing my hands in my lap again, expectant.

The silence seemed to extend for minutes, hours. The guards surrounding the table glanced quickly at each other, unsure. The Lords sank into a sea of collective contemplation, none of them breathing a word.

And then…

With a resounding creak, a chair slid back, knifing through the stifling silence. "I pledge my support," cried the Royal Treasurer.

And so it began.

"I pledge my support!"

"As do I!"

And on, and on, until every man in the room was standing. Except one.

"Baron Waller?" Tinis ventured, tentatively after a moment.

The Lord looked up at the Regent, his eyes flashing. "I will only pledge my support to a true King of Archenland… not a usurper."

The tension in the room reached new heights, with the other Lords glancing wide-eyed at both Waller and Tinis.

Tinis held back an eye-roll. "Oh do stop being so melodramatic, Waller. I'm not a usurper, I'm a Regent, chosen by the Princes themselves."

"Prove it."

Tinis blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Waller rose slowly from his seat, pausing dramatically before repeating his statement, spit sputtering onto the table before him. "I said, prove it."

"I have already presented you with the statement, signed by both-"

"Don't give me that!" Waller interrupted. "The princes would never leave their throne to a commoner," he spat the word out, as though it disgusted him. "A commoner who isn't even Archenlandish! They would have left the throne to a member of Parliament, or a trusted member of the nobility- like myself, for instance! How are we to know that you didn't forge their signatures, then use the royal seal of approval?"

Tinis paused, before nonchalantly shuffling the papers before him again. "So the truth is starting to come out now, isn't it Baron?"

"What _are_ you babbling about?" Waller demanded.

"I'm talking about the fact that you're lashing out because you expected the princes to appoint _you_ as Regent," Tinis replied, coolly.

Waller froze, reddening with humiliation and outrage. "What a ludicrous accusation! How dare you speak to a member of Parliament as such?"

"Well you said it yourself," Tinis continued, unruffled. "You expected the princes to leave the throne to someone like you. What am I supposed to think? You've been hostile and uncooperative since you entered this room, and I'm afraid I don't believe that that's because you have Archenland's best interests in mind. Rather, I believe that you have _your_ best interests in mind."

"I will not stand here and be insulted!" Waller cried, his face turning from red to green, his eyebrows ruffling menacingly, and his moustache bristling with rage.

"Then by all means," Tinis said, coldly, indicating towards the grand double doors. "Take your leave."

Waller looked around at his colleagues, waiting for someone, anyone to stand up and support him. But the other Lords refused to look directly at him, choosing that very moment to admire the chandeliers, or gaze at the spectacular view through the windows, which they had thus far been thoroughly disinterested in.

"Fine!" Waller spat, disgustedly. He brushed down his parliamentary robes, in what he perceived to be a dignified manner, collected his papers from the table and tucked them under his arm, then silently stalked towards the doors. Before he could leave though, two guards stepped in front of him, barring his way with long, menacing spears.

"Before you go, Waller," Tinis called across the room. "I'm afraid I will need your word that you do not inform anyone of the princes' absence. If anyone is to ask you, you are to reply that they are in the North, monitoring an invasion of Giants."

Waller turned around slowly, his face contorting unpleasantly into a forced smirk. "Under the Freedom of Information Act, you are withholding vital information from the people. By forcing me to lie to them as well, you're requesting that I become an accomplice to your seedy little scheme. I'm afraid that I can't do such a thing. Good day, Tinis."

He turned back towards the door, and nodded authoritatively to the rather bewildered guards, who looked at Tinis for direction. Tinis, his eyes hooded but dangerously icy, nodded stiffly to the men, who shifted their spears to their sides, their movements identical. Waller gave the room one last disgusted glance, before lifting his chin, pulling his shoulders back, and strutting out of the room, nose high in the air. The doors slammed shut with a resounding bang!

Tinis breathed in slowly through his nose, exhaling as he sank back into his seat. The entire room looked questioningly at him, waiting for him to make his next move.

"Well then," he smiled, though it was undeniably strained. "Now that all the unpleasantness has been dealt with, we can address the next order of business on the agenda."

And like a regiment of well-trained soldiers, the Lords synchronically turned their heads towards the papers before them, and picked up their quills, ready for their new Regent to begin.

* * *

**A/N: I. Am. So. Sorry. **

**I have no excuse for not updating, except laziness and procrastination. I promise that I will try my hardest to stick to my New Year's resolution to try and keep my updates regular, and more frequent. Anyhow, this is the last we'll see of Archenland for a while. Teaser for the next chapter is that we'll be travelling across the desert to the empire of Calormen where... well, I'm not going to tell you anymore. *smirks evilly***

**Colour for the chapter is gold, the colour of power, authority, and I thought it was an appropriate colour to end the first part of this story with. I'm now going to be writing about a completely different culture, and exploring some different characters, so... yeah, I'm excited. :) The chapter is a little shorter than usual, simply because I didn't feel the need to expand any further on this plot point at the moment, and I didn't want to start the next part of the story mid-chapter. I should be returning to my standard 3000+ word count in the next chapter, so no worries. **

**Thank you everyone who reviewed and alerted... your reviews and alerts are like cyber hugs. :) Please leave me your thoughts once again on this chapter, and feel free to tell me your honest opinion. Happy belated new year readers, and until next time...!**


	9. Volume II: Giant Despair

Aravis knew that she was being carted to the Tisroc's palace.

There was one immediate giveaway that alerted her. The carriage that she had been unceremoniously bundled into, though deliberately deprived of all comforts except for a chamber pot and a cushion, travelled smoothly.

She could identify the precise moment when she entered Tashbaan. Despite the carriage's curtains shading her from most of the sunlight, nothing could protect her against the stifling, humid heat. Her lustrous hair was soaked with sweat and clinging to her temples, and her linen nightgown, designed for the unpredictable summer conditions of Archenland, was clammy and stiff.

She calculated that it must be approximately noon, and knew that at this point in the day, Tashbaan would be crowded with street vendors, merchants and sailors who would have docked at the nearby town of Zalindreh, servants running their everyday errands, and the Tisroc's guards seeking a reprieve from their duties by harassing market girls.

But despite the ruckus outside the carriage, it never once paused or jolted, moving with a betraying fluidity. There was only one explanation: it was one of the Tisroc's carriages.

In Tashbaan there was only one traffic regulation, which was that everyone who is less important has to get out of the way for everyone who is more important; unless you want a cut from a whip, a punch from the butt end of a spear, or a throbbing toe that'd been run over by a carriage wheel.

The vehicle was slowing down, Aravis realised, through the hazy, throbbing pain in her head and ankle. She struggled to make herself decent, unable to ignore years of endless etiquette lessons. She coiled her hair at the nape of her neck and held it there with the pins that she usually kept in before going to bed, and she straightened her nightgown, unable to hide the dark flush rising up over her collarbone and her cheeks at the humiliation of having to present herself before everyone in nothing but a thin layer of fabric. She mopped the sweat on her brow with her sleeve and drew a shaky breath.

Slowly, she turned her gaze to the gentle, now perceptible swell of her stomach. The nightgown clung to it, bearing no heed to her efforts to drape the material discreetly over the curve. With a helpless sigh, she set the gown down, clasping her shaking hands in her lap.

She knew exactly who had taken her: she'd recognised the clothing, the faint scent of sandalwood that seemed to perpetually shroud Calormenes, the muffled accent. Aravis couldn't say that she was surprised. In fact, she was more surprised that they hadn't collected her earlier. She reasoned that she had been of little importance before, but now that she was betrothed to Cor…

Cor.

She clenched her eyes shut as a wave of panicked tears tried to surge forward. He didn't even know. She'd tried to hide it from him, worried that this would be another burden that he'd have to shoulder so soon after the King's death. Now she wished that she'd told him as soon as she'd found out… she couldn't bear the thought of him never finding out- of being imprisoned here forever, having her child taken from her, and never telling Cor of what they'd created.

Aravis leaned her head back, forcing herself to stop thinking. She raised a shaky hand to her forehead and relished the coolness of her palm on her heated skin.

The carriage jerked to a sudden halt. Aravis breathed deeply, resting her hand wearily on her seat, her eyes fixed on the door. She heard muffled voices yelling orders, and then the door was flung open, a sudden shaft of light flooding in as her arms were gripped by clammy hands.

"Get your hands of me," she struggled feebly, knowing that her efforts to sway her kidnapper were futile.

"Forgive me if I don't obey, my _lady_," a voice murmured mockingly in her ear, contemptuously stressing the final word.

"You have no right! Archenland will not stand for this… the princes will retaliate-"

The stranger swung her around, his hands gripping her upper arms and thrusting her forwards until their faces were almost touching. "That's exactly what the Tisroc (may he live forever) is hoping for," he hissed chillingly, his breath fanning across her face until she turned away out of revulsion.

"What do you want from me?" she whispered, forcing herself to look back at him defiantly.

He smiled slowly. "I'll let his Greatness have the pleasure of telling you himself. Besides, I do not presume to know all the Tisroc's (may he live forever) secrets." He surveyed her critically, his gaze narrowing at the sight of her abdomen. "But first, you must be made presentable. The Emperor has no desire to look directly at evidence of your, no doubt numerous… indiscretions," he finished, disgustedly.

Aravis freed one of her arms, and swung her hand at him furiously, but he grabbed it with brute strength, his fingerprints digging painfully into her wrist.

"Try that again," he said lividly, "and I'll lock you in the dungeons and starve you for a week… that wouldn't do your bastard much good now, would it?"

_A week._ Aravis blanched at the thought. She could feel the familiar feeling of suffocation rising; suddenly, it was too hot, her loose gown was too tight, the room was too small. She'd fought all her life to escape this wretched place, and she couldn't fathom spending another moment, let alone a _week _here.

As though reading her thoughts, her attacker grinned, his teeth straight but yellow, bared like those of a fiendish wolf. "Oh yes, my lady. But don't worry, a week will only be a fraction of your time here… we'll have plenty of time to better acquaint ourselves."

He spun her around again, and ushered her into the arms of a lady-in-waiting, no doubt one of the Tisroc's wives'. Her lips were pursed with contempt, her jaw tight with impatience.

Aravis flinched at the cold, hard nails digging into her upper arms, the fingers soft but strong, and capable of inflicting pain. She wasn't taken through the great entrance hall, which was reserved for visits from noblemen and dignitaries; rather, she was hurried through a side entrance that she'd never seen before and taken up through the servants' quarters. No doubt the Tisroc wanted to keep her presence a secret for as long as possible.

The inside of the palace was vastly different from the palace in Archenland. Aravis had never considered these differences before, but after her exposure to the cool marble, and light, open spaces of Anvard, she couldn't help but compare the two. The Tisroc, and those before him, favoured stilted arches in gold and silver edged with delicate tessellations and arabesques, intricately embroidered carpets, murals on the walls and ceilings depicting Tash (an effort to remind all those beneath the roof to fear him).

As Aravis was taken through the meandering corridors of the palace, she glanced up at the pointed stalactites on the ceilings, looked through the majestic arching windows that had been flung open in an effort to allow fresh air into the uncomfortable warmth of the building, and noted the detailed stonework of the fountains and cascades outside, water gushing down in inviting torrents.

Poets and artists had always considered the palace to be a place of exquisite beauty, and at the sight of the grandeur, so distinctive yet so delicate, Aravis was forced to grudgingly agree. Anvard was beautiful in its simplicity, yet the Tisroc's palace was beautiful in its breathtaking attention to detail. But for Aravis, this beauty was undermined by bitter memories. Being forced into tight, garish dresses and paraded before the Tisroc and the Grand Vizier; kissing their wrinkled, clammy hands, and simpering when they bestowed a kiss upon her cheek, treating it as though it was gift that she would relish.

The lady escorting Aravis finally let go of her arm and pushed her into one of the palace's eighty-seven guest suites.

"Now, we have no wish to make your stay unpleasant, my lady," she muttered, her tone implying the opposite. "The Tisroc (may he live forever) has not informed us as to why you are here, nor is he obligated to, of course," she added, hurriedly. "You are expected to dine with His Greatness this evening, but before such an honour can be bestowed upon you, it is my duty to make you more… presentable," she finished, her eyes lingering disapprovingly upon her stomach.

The next four hours were the most humiliating four hours of Aravis's life. She was stripped naked, the heat doing nothing to prevent her furious and frightened shaking, and then forced to sit in a bath while she was doused repeatedly with cold water. A foul-smelling soap was then scrubbed over her body and into her hair, followed by milk and oil (which Aravis suspected was vegetable oil), a Calormene custom used to soften the skin and make it more supple. She tried to not to dwell on a sudden memory that surfaced from the back of her mind: a place which she had tried to avoid, untouched, for nearly a decade.

"_Aravis," her mother chided, sternly. "Stop crying, right this moment!"_

"_Mama, you're hurting me," a ten-year-old Aravis gasped, trying to swerve the pointed fingers that were jabbing at her tender skin. _

"_I must," her mother replied, exasperatedly. "Don't you want to please your betrothed? He wouldn't want a wife with chapped skin!"_

"_I don't care!" Aravis cried, defiantly. _

"_Well, I do. And you're going to sit here while I rub this oil in- no daughter of mine will repulse her husband with dry skin!"_

As her skin was prodded and rubbed raw, Aravis swallowed convulsively, trying not to think about the implications of being rubbed with oil and milk. She could still remember the Grand Vizier's touch on her skin, his eager hands fondling and caressing her plump childish arms. She swallowed, trying to hold back a sudden wave of nausea.

"Get up," the lady-in-waiting ordered, dragging her out of the tub by her armpits. She then proceeded to vigorously towel Aravis until her skin was red and burning. Aravis simply let her do as she wished, too weary to feign modesty.

Her companion surveyed her naked form critically. "That'll have to do," she sighed. "I've left some clothes on the bed. You aren't a child, my lady, so I'm sure that you can dress yourself."

Aravis bit back a retort, although she couldn't stop herself from raising an eyebrow disbelievingly. _You just bathed, soaped, and towelled me- and now I'm allowed some independence? _she thought, doing her utmost not to roll her eyes.

She hobbled to the bed, trying not to rest her weight on her throbbing ankle, and eyed the clothes uncertainly. Thankfully, there were none of the usual mid-riff baring outfits… actually, by Calormene standards, the clothes could almost be considered elegant. The colour was very becoming, a deep, rich blue, embroidered with silver, and the dress fell to the ground, the raw silk gently stroking the floor. Her shoulders would be bare, but the material was loose enough that it would brush over her stomach.

She slipped on the dress carefully, and then sat before the carved wood vanity so that the maid could do her hair. That in itself took over an hour, with each tendril being tied meticulously into a rag and sprayed with water. Aravis's hair was then left to dry, before each rag was then carefully taken out and replaced with myrtles which could only be found in the Tisroc's lands. The winding flowers were painstakingly woven into the lustrous curls, the white a stark contrast to the jet black.

By this point, Aravis was utterly baffled. Why go through the trouble of kidnapping her and dragging her to Calormen in a primitively sparse carriage, if only to place her in one of the palace's finest suites, with equally fine clothing, and maids waiting on her hand and foot? Where was the dungeon that her kidnapper had threatened her with? Where was the bread and water diet? Aravis could stomach the idea of being forced to live like an animal or a servant, but she couldn't stand the tense waiting, or the games that the Tisroc was playing, using her as a pawn to achieve his means.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror, startled by the transformation. Archenland fashion was demure and subtly sensual, with its modest necklines and pastel colours. Subtlety was not the Calormenes' forte. Aravis could remember burning her revealing, garish Calormene clothing on her arrival in Archenland, but now, staring at her reflection in amazement, she realised that she had finally grown into her looks. On a ten-year-old child, the clothing would always look cheap and out of place, but on a woman, it enhanced her figure and complimented her features. She looked… beautiful.

"You look… adequate," her lady-in-waiting commented, primly. "His Greatness should be pleased with the result. You may now attend dinner with him."

"I thank you," Aravis responded, dully. "Am I to have an escort?"

"One of the lower servants should be up on a moment to take you downstairs."

"Fine."

Aravis sat on the bed gingerly, trying to hold back another sudden wave of nausea. She tried desperately to smooth the fabric of her dress over her stomach, but she knew that her efforts were pointless: the Tisroc's servants would no doubt inform him of her… condition.

As Aravis was taken along the winding corridors by a servant who refused to look directly at her, she noticed how empty the palace was. Whenever she'd been brought there as a child, the place had been teeming with foreign dignitaries and noblemen. It was clear that the Tisroc was doing his utmost to keep her presence there under wraps.

Eventually, she was taken to the grand dining room, a suite so lavishly decorated that Aravis felt suffocated by the heaving combination of brightly coloured tapestries, mood lighting and heavy gold ornaments.

"The Tisroc will join you in a moment," the servant said shortly, before turning and swiftly exiting the room.

Aravis tried to project an air of total nonchalance, her chin held high, as though being kidnapped and held against her will was an everyday occurrence. It would be a cold day in Hell when the Tisroc saw her shaking with fear and begging for mercy.

"Lady Aravis," a voice boomed behind her. "It is indeed an honour to behold your wondrous beauty."

Aravis stood up quickly- a force of habit- as the Tisroc entered the room. Despite his many titles and names: His Greatness, the Mighty, the Formidable, the Tisroc was rather… vertically challenged. He was about the same height as Aravis, and it seemed that the many magnificent layers of his robes were compensating for his stature. He was portly, but not robust; his countenance proud, but not impressive: all in all, he was generally quite underwhelming.

"I apologise profusely for the rather… unorthodox manner in which we brought you back to your splendid home," he carried on breezily, taking a seat at the head of the grand dining table.

"Unorthodox, indeed, your Greatness," Aravis forced out, through gritted teeth. "Some may even refer to is as kidnapping."

The Tisroc's eyes flashed almost imperceptibly. "Some may, my Lady. I, do not."

Aravis smiled, grimly. "Without sounding ungracious, Sire, am I to be enlightened as to my presence in _… your _splendid home?"

"In due course, my lovely, in due course."

In fact, it was eight due courses before Aravis succeeded in making any headway with the Tisroc. She fought sporadic waves of nausea and the perpetual ache in her leg, and gulped down plates of rice, lentils, thick soups, three different types of garnished poultry and sickeningly sweet pastries.

The Tisroc seemed intent upon antagonising her, dodging her enquiries and maddeningly driving the conversation towards menial topics such as the weather, the plans for the new fountains in the gardens and the superiority of Calormene carpets over Galmian ones.

By the second course, Aravis was stabbing her goose far harder than necessary with a fork.

By the fourth course, she felt like stabbing the Tisroc in the eye with a fish bone.

By the eight course, she was ready to run him through with the scythe hanging on the wall.

She deliberately placed her cutlery on her plate, dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, and shuffled uncomfortably against the highly impractical silk cushion that she was sitting upon.

"I believe the time for pleasantries has passed," she said firmly, interrupting the Tisroc's spiel about the delight that one experiences upon tasting a perfectly marinated chicken breast, garnished with Calormene spices.

The Tisroc looked mildly startled, but quickly smothered his surprise. "I believe that that is for me to decide as your host… my lady," he replied softly, popping a grape into his mouth and chewing slowly.

"And I believe that it is for me to decide, as your unwilling guest, when your false welcome has gone far enough."

"You insult my gracious hospitality, my lady."

Aravis stared at him, disbelievingly. "I demand to know what you want with me."

"You insolent little peacock," the Tisroc hissed. "You are in no position to make demands to your betters."

"Indeed," Aravis complied. "I am in no position to make demands to my _betters_."

The Tisroc's eyes flashed again. He leaned back slowly in his chair and placed his hands on the arms of his chair. "You are here," he said slowly, never removing his gaze from Aravis, "to settle a score."

"With who?" she demanded. "With me?"

"In part," he replied. "But also with that darling fiancé of yours. And that impertinent feline who presumes to think that he is superior to the great Tash."

Aravis bristled. "You dare to speak of him as su-"

"Indeed, I dare," the Tisroc snapped. "No _cat _will strike fear in my heart. He's an imposter, manipulating those around him to do his bidding. What has he ever done for anyone, apart from demand respect which he never shows to anyone else- respect that he has not earned."

"And what of Tash?" Aravis retaliated. "A foul creature that doesn't induce fear, but terror in his subjects?"

"Perhaps," the Tisroc conceded, "But at least he doesn't pretend to be something that he is not. He is a creature of power. Your precious Aslan is a creature of manipulation."

"What does any of this have to do with my being brought here?"

"Your Aslan has besmirched the name of the Calormene royal family. He turned my heir into… _a farm animal_. He mocked us, he laughed at us, he humiliated us," the Tisroc spat. "Were those the actions of a kind and merciful creature?"

"You got what you deserved."

"Be silent before I sew your lips together," he hissed, rising from his seat and grabbing Aravis's hair, rumpling the carefully arranged curls.

Aravis cried out, trying to pry his fingers away, but he refused to relax his grip. "What do you want with me?" she cried out.

"Many things," the Tisroc spat. "But firstly… you are to be married."

"I have a betrothed!"

"That is not the same as a husband."

"If you think to sell me to the Grand Vizier-"

"Not at all," he whispered, sinisterly. "You are to marry my son."

**A/N: Hello there readers! I hope there are still a few of you out there, although understandably, many may have lost interest as a result of my deplorable updating habits.**

**I had a little bit of a drama when I signed in a few weeks ago to upload this- I forgot to read the fine print on the ff rules, and apparently, any uploaded documents are deleted after a certain number of days. Because I haven't been on in a while, this chapter had been deleted, so I've been frantically re-writing. Apologies to those reviewers who were promised an update on the 7****th****. **

**I hope this chapter is a satisfactory introduction to the next 'volume' of this story. I'll try and bump the drama up another notch, and rejoice because in the next chapter, the princes will be making their return!**

**I don't think I did the description of the Tisroc's palace justice: I based it upon the palace of the Alhambra, which is one of the most gorgeous buildings I've ever seen. I thought its Moorish architecture was absolutely perfect when I first saw it, because my interpretation of Calormen has always been heavily Arabic.**

**The comment about "there is only one traffic regulation…" may seem familiar because it's from 'The Horse and His Boy', and some of you may also recognise the Pilgrim's Progress reference in my chapter title: I think that the Tisroc is pretty reminiscent of the character of Giant Despair, and I wanted to show that Aravis really is on her way to rock bottom. Notice that I said 'on her way', which indicates that yes, I am going to make her endure a little more suffering, I'm afraid.**

**But then again, who in the world said reading was supposed to be fun?**

**Please review!**


	10. The Bloodhound Law

"You're deluded," Aravis spat, incredulously. "What on… I don't know how you could possibly… are you out of your mind?"

"Hardly, my Lady," the Tisroc smirked, retreating to the other side of the room triumphantly. "And there's not a thing you can do about it."

"I am not a Calormene citizen-"

"Please do not insult my intelligence," the Tisroc warned. "Those white barbarians may have diluted your blood somewhat, but you are, and will always be, Calormene. As such, in accordance with the Ancient Laws that form the constitution upon which this great country is built, you are my property."

"Archenland will not stand for this!"

"Archenland will have no choice. Even your precious princes cannot dismiss the Ancient Laws."

"An obsolete, unwritten piece of legislation will not force them to succumb to your will."

The Tisroc grinned confidently. "You'd be surprised how little it would take for them to succumb."

Aravis glared at him defiantly. "And what of Rabadash? Do you think he'll be pleased about the prospect of marrying damaged goods… or raising the bastard child of a white man?"

The room fell silent. The momentary bravery that had flared up in Aravis abated with similar swiftness. She reddened, staring determinedly into her lap.

After an eternity, the Tisroc spoke. "I have been informed already of your… state. My son will have plenty of companions to attend to his needs, and I very much doubt that your lack of virginity will concern him needlessly. As for your half-caste bastard… methods will be taken to… rid you of such shame."

Aravis shivered, dread fingering up her spine with cold and clammy fingers. "If you touch my child-"

"It is not a child!" the Tisroc hissed. "It is an abomination… the product of an unclean union between a slut and a Neanderthal. I'll be damned if you bring shame upon this family."

"Then let me go," Aravis pleaded. "You don't need to do this."

"And lose the opportunity to teach those illiterates in the North to respect their superiors?" he scoffed in response.

"Besides, my father would not wish to deny me the chance to better acquaint myself with an… old friend," a voice interjected, silkily.

Aravis grasped the arms of her chair as another wave of nausea swept over her. She swallowed and turned her head to the side, towards the door.

There, in all his Calormene magnificence, was Prince Rabadash.

Rabadash struck a dashing figure, swathed in embroidered gold fabric that draped over his battle-hardened physique, a turban tied rakishly around his head, with heavy black locks of hair tumbling over his eyes where they refused to stay in place. Age had been kind to Rabadash. Although he was a good ten years older than Aravis, he exuded vitality and youth, his manner restless as though he preferred to be outside hunting or riding.

As a child, Aravis had admired the prince's famed good looks… as did most of the Calormene aristocracy. Unlike others however, she had been able to see beyond the perfect features, flowery praise and flattering attention. Few were able to recognise the carefully concealed cruelty and the hastily suppressed fury when Rabadash didn't get what he wanted… or perhaps, it was that they didn't want to recognise the flaws in their seemingly perfect prince.

As a young girl, barely on the edge of womanhood, and engaged to a man fifty years her senior, Aravis had dreamt of Rabadash swooping in and taking her away; installing her in his palace and worshipping her for the rest of his days. He had always referred to her as his 'favourite' at social gatherings, tugging her hair affectionately, loudly admiring her pretty clothes, and exclaiming that she was growing into an enviable beauty.

But Rabadash's façade was impossible to maintain. Aravis could remember bursting into tears when her hero, drunk and violent, yelled furiously at his father before hundreds of dignitaries, nobles and guests, and then slapped a palace courtesan who had unfortunately been standing next to him.

There were other incidents too: abandoning Aravis in the middle of conversations while she'd been regaling him of her latest exploits because his eye had been captured by a low-cut top or invitingly dark eyes; his temper rising quickly with impatience when she fumbled while pouring tea; eyeing her clothes with distaste when she favoured muted colours and modest cuts; making mocking remarks about her impending betrothal.

But the pinnacle of Aravis's gradual loss of respect for the prince had arrived in Anvard. She saw his injured pride at having been rejected by Queen Susan; the spoiled child who wouldn't rest until he got what he wanted… even if that meant taking it by force.

Nearly a decade later, it seemed that Rabadash hadn't changed one bit.

"Prince Rabadash," Aravis nodded in acknowledgment, forcing herself to remain as composed as possible.

He swept forward with the grace and confidence of a predator, his lips curving into a seductively dark smirk… which, no doubt, he practised in one of the dozen mirrors that were hanging in his chambers. He knelt over her seat and kissed her hand, lingering over it far longer than necessary.

"Lady Aravis," he murmured admiringly, his eyes never leaving hers, "I see the rumours are true. You have indeed grown into a great beauty. I had hoped that we would meet again. Our last… encounter doesn't reflect entirely well upon my character."

"Perhaps," Aravis forced out, "but the reflection was certainly accurate, I'm sure."

Rabadash's eyes flashed. "And how is my esteemed friend," his gaze flicked over her stomach, "Prince Cor?"

Aravis bit back a sharp retort and fought to keep her response civil. "I've no doubt you'll be re-acquainted soon enough, my Prince," she replied, curtly.

Rabadash grinned slowly. "I'm looking forward to it, my Lady. In fact, I intend to invite him to our wedding."

Aravis's brow suddenly cleared as the truth dawned on her. "You planned this," she whispered, "as revenge for what he did to you in Anvard. For warning Queen Susan! For Aslan turning you into an-"

With a flourish of his hand, Rabadash bowed theatrically. "By Tash, she's got it!" he exclaimed.

"You've been planning this for nearly a decade," Aravis said, disbelievingly.

"Oh trust me, I would have acted earlier… as you know, patience is not my forte. But," Rabadash looked over his shoulder at the Tisroc, "my father urged me to think rationally about the situation."

"Did you injure yourself in the process?"

"I'll urge you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth," Rabadash snapped, his composure crumbling. For a split-second, Aravis could notice the signs of wear and tear on the prince- once so carefully concealed, now so glaringly obvious: the bloodshot eyes and slight bloating of the face from night after night of heavy drinking; the tan skin, once so healthy and supple, was pale and drawn from lack of sleep as a result of gallivanting about the time into all hours of the night. Looking at the man before her, Aravis couldn't fathom how she'd ever idolised him.

"This is all to get back at Prince Cor? Why wait so long?"

"Because," Rabadash began, as though patiently explaining something complex to a child, "I was waiting for him to give me a reason."

Aravis crinkled her eyebrows in confusion. "A reason?"

"Yes, a reason," Rabadash grinned, devilishly. "I couldn't risk waging war by attacking Archenland. So I waited for Archenland to attack us. I believe you're aware of the treatment of the white man in the Mai."

Aravis swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "You brutalised those people… because you wanted revenge?"

"Not at all," Rabadash replied, coolly. "I intended to brutalise those people regardless… revenge was a fortunate side-effect."

Pure, unadulterated hatred rose up within Aravis, sharp and hot, like needles stabbing her insides. She could feel her hands shaking with fury, clenching them to stop herself from lashing out at the vile creature before her.

She had witnessed first-hand the atrocities committed against the people in the Mai. A woman and her six-year-old son had escaped into Archenland by bribing a guard at the border. When they'd arrived in Anvard, the woman was incoherent and hysterical from starvation and dehydration. Bruises had been discovered all over her body, but particularly on her inner thighs; there were livid red stripes all across her back from frequent beatings, her toenails had been ripped off, one by one, and her bones were visible through her papery skin. The little boy's stomach was bloated from starvation, and the poor mite could barely stand up, flinching whenever anyone approached him, until he had to be medicated by force.

"You're sick," she spat.

"Perhaps," Rabadash conceded, with a nonchalant wave of the hand, "but your lover is predictable. Of course, he had to swoop in, rescue the downtrodden, assert his authority, and so on and so forth-"

"In the process, giving you the perfect reason to declare war," Aravis interrupted. "You're mad! Calormen doesn't have nearly enough resources to succeed in war against Archenland… Narnia would probably get involved too."

"Where there's a will, there's a way, my Lady," Rabadash replied with maddening ambiguity, revelling in Aravis's disbelief and lack of comprehension.

"But, my son doesn't do anything in half-measures," the Tisroc interjected, rising from his seat where he'd been reclining and enjoying the view. "Rabadash here, has another goal he wishes to achieve."

Aravis felt dread sink heavily into the pit of her stomach. "Which is?"

"I want to ruin your precious Prince Cor," he hissed, menacingly, placing his hands on the arms of her chair and levering himself over her. "I want to humiliate him, take everything away from him… as he did in Anvard a decade ago to me. And I'm going to do it by not simply defeating him in battle, but by taking his bride."

"He won't let you! This is kidnapping!"

"I've not done acted outside the law. As a Calormene citizen, you are the Crown's property, and we can do as we wish with you."

"Cor will fetch me! He won't let you marry me-"

"Well, I'm hardly going to make a public announcement about our betrothal, my sweet. Let your prince come for you. By the time he does, it'll be too late. My father will conduct negotiations for the return of the Mai in exchange for your life… that'll keep him occupied until the two of us are married. I'm certain your pitiful excuse for a lover will not realise that I have next to no interest in the Mai… and that I certainly don't plan on returning you."

"He'll declare war-"

"And I don't intend to lose," Rabadash sneered.

"How can you be so confident? Calormen has but a fraction of Archenland's resources and wealth!"

"That's certainly true," Rabadash accepted, carelessly, "But Archenland has many enemies, my lad… something which I'm sure those imbeciles up north have been sure to keep from you."

"The Terebinthians," Aravis breathed, her heart pounding with the knowledge.

"Amongst others," Rabadash grinned gleefully, rubbing his hands at her increasing despair.

"What about my child?" Aravis cried, her hand unconsciously falling to her stomach.

Rabadash looked at her contemptuously. "There are ways that _that_ can be taken care of."

Aravis rose from her seat and pushed his chest as hard as she could. He barely flinched.

"Don't you dare touch my child," she yelled, hammering her fists against his torso as hard as she could.

Rabadash grabbed her wrists and held them together in one hand. He clicked his fingers and two guards came in. With a flash of dread, Aravis recognised one as the guard who'd threatened to throw her in the dungeons.

It seemed that his opportunity had finally arrived.

"I believe you're far too excited, my lady," Rabadash snapped, "and there's only one remedy for that. A night in the dungeons should do the trick, after which, we can begin wedding preparations."

Aravis thrashed and screamed to no avail. "You can't do this," she screeched, writhing feebly in the hands of the guards. Their fingers dug into her sides, where marks would undoubtedly appear in the morning, and unceremoniously dragged her out of the hall.

"But I can," Rabadash finished chillingly, his words soft, but as loud as sirens to Aravis.

* * *

"What's happened, Tinis?" Ghalda asked as she swept into Prince Cor's study.

Tinis was sitting in the Prince's chair, looking thoroughly harassed as he pored over sheaves of contracts, maps and legislature.

"The first of the Tisroc's demands arrived this afternoon," he replied curtly, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It seems to be as the princes suspected. He wants the Mai in return for Lady Aravis."

Ghalda sighed. "Well, giving him the Mai is out of the question. How long can we delay him for?"

"As long as it takes until the princes return," Tinis said, resolutely.

Ghalda sat slowly by Tinis. "My concern isn't that they will not find Lady Aravis. It's what will happen after they find her. The Tisroc will do his utmost to ensure that they don't leave Tashbaan."

"I know," said Tinis, heavily, "but I am but a slave to the Crown. I advise, but if they wish to pursue a certain course of action, there's little I can do except try to keep them from harm."

"I'm still at a loss as to why the Tisroc would make such a fuss about the Mai," Ghalda said, rifling through the papers on the desk. "It was in poor condition under Calormene rule and it has one of the largest white minorities in the world. Under Archenland, it has flourished. And it's hardly as though it was a significant loss. Of course, the mineral wealth must be considered, but really… it seems to be a rash move on the Tisroc's part."

"Rash is the Tisroc's middle name, Ghalda," Tinis retorted dismissively, "and he probably considers it a slight on his authority; a humiliation that Archenland could sweep the Mai away without batting an eyelid. After the… er… ass incident, Calormen, for lack of a better term, seems intent upon defending its manhood."

"How do you wish to respond?"

"Can we invite a private audience with the Tisroc?"

"The Tisroc is too weak a man to agree to face-to-face confrontation. Besides, if we bring him here he'll realise the princes are absent."

"We could request proof of Lady Aravis's wellbeing. Insist that negotiations will not commence until we're certain we aren't being double-crossed."

Ghalda looked up, shifting uneasily in her seat. "What are we to do about her condition? Should we mention it? The Calormenes are likely to discover it soon… but they have a deep-rooted disgust of motherhood and… female concerns. They might do something drastic-"

"Like harm the child," Tinis replied with concern. "I hadn't thought of that. The Calormenes would consider it the ultimate shame for an unmarried girl to be with child… especially one of their own subjects."

"And I'm sure they'll realise who the child's father is."

"Perhaps that'll work in her favour," Tinis said uncertainly. "Would the Tisroc risk aggravating the situation my harming the heir to the throne of Archenland?"

"The child isn't the heir… not until Lady Aravis is married to Prince Cor… and even then, there will be nobles in Parliament who will dispute its legitimacy."

"There's no point dwelling upon 'what-ifs'," Tinis insisted, tiredly. "The situation is volatile but we need to have faith in princes' abilities-"

"They're children," Ghalda said, quietly. "They're children who think with their hearts, not their heads. And Prince Corin's infatuation will not improve matters."

Tinis's head snapped up. "His _what_?"

"I'm surprised no one's noticed," Ghalda replied, solemnly. "He's flustered whenever she's around; he wouldn't leave her side when she was bed-ridden, and he can't stand to look at her and Cor directly whenever they're being affectionate. To his credit, he's been discreet… but the prince is hot-headed, and his patience will run out soon enough."

"Prince Corin is in love with Lady Aravis!" Tinis cried, aghast. "That's preposterous! Why haven't you mentioned anything before?"

"There's nothing to say. I only mention it now because I'm afraid a volatile situation could worsen with the princes in such close proximity, and intent upon the same mission. Prince Corin has not acted upon his feelings."

"I certainly hope not," Tinis spluttered. "That's the last thing we need: a prince acting from within the depths of foolish infatuation! I shudder to think how his relationship with his brother would be damaged if such a thing were to get out. You mustn't mention this to anyone else Ghalda!"

"It's not me that you should be concerned about," Ghalda replied, gravely. "Pray that Prince Corin will not do something reckless."

* * *

**A/N: So yay! I fulfilled my goal of finishing before the end of the weekend. I'm going to try and update weekly now that the plot is beginning to thicken! Thank you for all the lovely reviews… they definitely urged me on in my writing. The twins are going to make their return in the next chapter, and we'll learn some more of Aravis's past. I loved writing about her relationship with Rabadash. Coming from a high-ranking Calormene noble family, I suspect she would have run in the same social circles as Rabadash and I think he's going to be a very fun character to portray in future chapters! I hope you enjoyed reading about him as much as I enjoyed writing about him.**

**Okay, so the law which allows the Crown to treat their subjects as property was something I came up with a while ago, but I've actually begun to read a book (not necessarily one I completely agree with, but certainly an interesting read) called 'Courting Failure: Women and the Law in 20****th**** Century Literature', and there's a reference to the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 which declared that all runaway slaves be brought back to their masters. The similarities are chilling. Please read up on it if you have time: it's actually fascinating. **

**Which brings me to the chapter title. 'The Bloodhound Law' is what the Fugitive Slave Act was referred to, in reference to the dogs that tracked the runaway slaves (well, according to Wikipedia anyway). **

**Please read and review! **


	11. The beginning of the Odyssey

_**On the outskirts of Tashbaan, Calormen**_

The cool Southern wind was finally beginning to dispel the sweltering heat of the afternoon as night shrouded Tashbaan. Corin gingerly rubbed a herbal salve on his arms, which were tender and red, though thankfully not quite sunburnt. The journey through the Central Desert had been blessedly uneventful. There had only been one incident which had forced them off Cor's carefully plotted trail: Calormene scavengers making a living out of robbing the bodies of lost travellers had settled for the night near the twins' camp. They were forced to crouch behind sand dunes, cramped into the same position for hours, unable to find any shrubbery to shelter them through the night.

Corin swallowed the bile rising up his throat as he thought about that night: the stench of warm, rotting flesh; the sound of slicing knives as the scavengers cut through clothing, and the overpowering smell of ale as they toasted their good fortune. Corin wasn't naive enough to think that the practice was limited to Calormen, and he couldn't fault them for doing what was necessary to take care of their families - it wasn't as though they were robbing the living. But there was something inherently distasteful about profiting from death for the living. But what did he know? It's not as though he, a prince of Archenland, would ever need to scavenge for money.

Corin clenched his fists, forcing himself not to touch his arms until the salve had soothed the skin; the light cotton of his tunic had been unable to protect them. He sighed. At least burnt arms were the only injuries he'd acquired. He stifled a yawn, forcing his eyes open and settling back against the tree trunk they'd identified as their base for the day. Now that they were on the outskirts of Tashbaan, it would be almost impossible to go anywhere without their skin colour and royal bearing attracting attention. They'd decided to limit any travelling to the night, taking turns keeping watch while the other slept.

Their food supplies had depleted far more quickly than they'd anticipated; their clothes were weather-worn and now flimsy; they had no protection apart from light-weight daggers because of the impracticalities of lugging swords and shields through the desert. Corin sighed again. Their plan wasn't going to be quite as straightforward as he'd hoped.

His eyes fell on his twin's sleeping form. Cor had fallen asleep before his head had even hit the ground. He'd been sleeping poorly, waking in the middle of the night in a cold sweat after a night terror, or tossing and turning as his mind worried. Corin had insisted that he sleep through the afternoon; in the state he was in at the moment, he was going to be of little use to Aravis.

As calm as he seemed on the surface, Corin's fury had only been suppressed; not dispelled.

_"Lady Aravis... is with child. Lady Aravis... is with child. Lady Aravis... is with child."_

Corin wasn't prone to fury. Of course, he had a temper, but only in fits and bursts: quick-burning and forgotten in moment. But imagining Aravis, possibly hurt or dying in a dungeon in Calormen, her belly swollen with child – it was simply too much for him to bear. She was the closest thing he had to a sister, and when she'd arrived at Anvard, he immediately vowed that nothing would come to harm her or his newly acquired twin. To think that one person he loved could be in such a vulnerable position because of another person he loved enveloped him in anger and confusion. In his heart, he knew that this wasn't Cor's fault; Aravis had played a part in the decision too. But he simply couldn't reconcile this Aravis with the Aravis he knew: the one who still played hopscotch with him, and dropped conkers on his head, and precariously balanced buckets of water on his bedroom door. This was a grown Aravis. A grown Aravis in love with his grown brother. And now the two were grown, they would leave together, and he would be left behind.

It had always been CorandAravisandCorin. Or so it seemed. Perhaps it had been more ? Corin had never minded. He knew that his brother and Aravis loved him with all their hearts, and they'd do anything to keep him from harm. But they had bonded for life during their journey to Anvard. Something had blossomed between them that could never be forgotten: a mutual trust, understanding and yes, love.

He had always known this... so why did it hurt so much now?

He should be happy for them. He knew he should. He'd plastered a smile on his face when Cor had announced their engagement, made the appropriate congratulations, and pretended. Because Corin was very good at pretending. He was the Merry Twin, the Jester Prince, the Rowdy Royal. In truth, he had to be, because succumbing to anything other than good-humour or frivolity could take him down a path he had no wish to explore.

All he wanted to do was go home. He wanted to destroy something, scream into the night air, hit someone... just expel all the hurt from his very soul. But he knew that he had to keep a reign on his emotions or it could be disastrous for everyone. He was no good to Aravis as a wreck. Worse, he was terrified that if he allowed himself to dwell on his tumultuous emotions, they would reveal a lot more about himself than he wished to know.

The dying streaks of the sun finally faded from the sky, and night shrouded Tashbaan. Corin listened intently, hearing the noise of the street markets and the chaos of the crush die away. Eventually, all that could be heard was the occasional drunken reveler, or the squeaky wheels of a tradesman passing through on a cart. The blistering heat was replaced by muggy warmth, clammy and uncomfortable. There was no relief to be found.

Corin carefully packaged the pitiful remnants of their food, changed his tunic for the only spare he had brought, and washed the sleep from his eyes with water from a nearby stream. Looking around to make sure that nothing had been left behind, he finally bent over his twin and gently shook him awake.

Bleary-eyed but somewhat rested, Cor sat up immediately and looked around him, taking in his surroundings. As Corin waited for him to wash his face, he finally asked the question that neither of them knew how to answer.

"So, what now?"

Cor looked up at him, his eyes narrowed in thought and his brow furrowed in concentration. "The palace isn't far from here," he replied, finally. "The streets are empty, so our best chance would be to simply keep our heads down and barrel through. We can set up camp near the gates; we'll be able to gain a better idea of the security then."

Corin knew that his brother was playing for time, but since he didn't have any better ideas, he simply gave a curt nod.

The pair kept to the shadows, stealthily hurrying down the side-streets and alleys of Tashbaan, studiously avoiding well-lit main roads. They were in luck as they had arrived during the fortnight of Perses, a Calormene celebration of destruction: of the beauty within the Great Tash's terror. As such, the taverns and other public places were largely empty, with most of the Calormenes choosing to stay at home and conduct prayers in honour of their God.

The silence of the night was interrupted only by a smooth hum: chanting. At sundown during the fortnight, every Calormen would come together in their homes to pray. As Corin passed through the streets, he could feel goosebumps on his arms and the hair on the back of his neck rising. There was something disconcerting about being surrounded by the steady mantra and he felt it getting louder and louder. He swallowed, trying to banish the onset of claustrophobia. He focused on his feet, keeping his head down and counting his steps in an effort to steady his nerves.

A group of revelers, clearly too far in their cups to recognise the sanctity of the day, were stumbling down the road behind them. The twins ignored them: they were no threat, and they would act as a distraction to any other passers-by. They could see the Tisroc's palace looming perhaps a mile ahead of them, the grand rooms lit up, and the chanting from within so loud that even those in outer Tashbaan could hear it. In their haste to reach their destination, the brothers forgot an essential rule of espionage: in your haste to reach your destination, don't forget to watch your back.

_Thwack!_

With a sickening crack, Corin, walking slightly behind Cor, fell to the ground. Spinning around in terror, his twin narrowly avoided the same treatment, ducking as a bat swung at his head. Grabbing his satchel, he threw it wildly about him in an effort to distract his attacker while his other hand crept to his ankle where his dagger was sheathed.

He lashed out with it aimlessly, the dark preventing him from getting his bearings. A strangled cry met his efforts and he knew that the weapon had made its mark. Corin let out a pained moan, clutching his head in agony. Cor grabbed his brother by the arm and with a grunt, heaved him up before the attacker approached again. Corin, his vision blurred with tears and pain understood that they needed to move, so with his arm around Cor's shoulders, he began to run, focusing on the steady movement of his legs rather than the searing pain in his head. Behind them, he heard a voice cry out and several others respond. And then, the distinctive sound of footsteps as the seemingly harmless drunkards began their chase.

Cor dragged Corin through another side street, desperately changing directions and doubling back in an attempt to escape, but Corin's injury meant that they were moving far too slowly and they couldn't escape their pursuers' line of sight. With a growl of frustration, Cor tried to pick up the pace but Corin simply couldn't manage.

He stopped in the street and looked up, noticing an open window in the building above. He clambered onto the ledge and heaved his body in, before leaning out of the window for Corin. Grabbing his arm, he guided him onto the ledge too, and with an almighty cry, he dragged his twin into the building. Without missing a beat, he had them on their feet and running again. They could hear screams as they passed sleeping grandmothers and young girls in their rooms, silently thanking Aslan that there didn't seem to be an furious fathers on the upper floor. They reached a window on the opposite side and quickly dropped onto the ground of a parallel street.

They heard a cry behind them. One of their pursuers was pointing at them and beckoning to his side. The screams inside the house must have alerted them, and their attempt at escape had been foiled. Cor dragged Corin, who was becoming dizzier and dizzier from the pain, his steps unsteady and his eyes blurry with blood, sweat and tears. His twin's movements were ungainly, and his usual grace gone. With a desperate yell, Cor urged him to keep going, scanning his surroundings for somewhere to hide. But they were in a long, narrow alley with high walls, the exit a good five hundred metres away. The only way to escape would be to out-run the gang, which uninjured, they could have done with ease. But with Cor almost bodily carrying Corin, this would be an almost impossible feat.

"Leave me behind," Corin croaked, his feet stumbling over a lopsided slab of the pavement, nearly pulling Cor off-balance.

"Don't be ridiculous," replied Cor, huffing with the exertion but never breaking their pace.

"They're gaining on us-"

"No, they aren't!" lied Cor.

"Cor," Corin wheezed, "We can't help Aravis if we're captured or injured."

"I won't sacrifice you to find her."

"I'll be fine," Corin replied, halting abruptly.

"What are you doing?" Cor yelled, trying to drag his brother forward.

Corin grabbed his hand in a firm grip and looked into his eyes, his own bleary with pain. "I promise you, brother. I will find you. Now go." And he pushed Cor with all his might.

Cor watched as his twin, his flesh and blood, his other half smiled at him and with a pained wink, turned around.

"Run, Cor, run!" Corin bellowed, reaching down to his own ankle and unsheathing his dagger. He held it before him, adopting a fighter's stance, slightly unsteady on his feet but otherwise firm. All efforts to run away had been dismissed and now there was only him, his dagger, and his opponent.

Staring at his brother in disbelief, Cor was paralysed.

Corin glanced back. "For the love of Aslan, Cor, _run!_"

Swallowing his guilt, Cor turned in the opposite direction and began running, his pace lighter and swifter. Behind him, he heard the taunts of the gang grow louder and louder. He could feel his eyes blurring and the warm saltiness of his tears streaking down his face.

_Run, Cor, run._

He couldn't hold back the self-loathing. He pictured Aravis in his mind, her face fueling his energy and driving him towards her, and away from Corin. He pictured her as she was the day she first kissed him, the day he'd asked her to marry her, the night he'd found her in the cellar, crying bitterly over her father's death, the moment they'd made love for the first time. He thought of their unborn child, a helpless innocent, in the clutches of the most heartless man he'd ever had the misfortune of knowing. He thought of his Father's words to him on his death bed: _"she will make a wonderful wife..."._ He thought about the wedding they'd planned, her dressed in white, their futures shining before them. He thought of her trapped in the palace, waiting for him to come, trusting that he would find her.

But as much as he allowed thoughts of her to envelop him, there was the dark corner in his mind, screaming at him to turn around, to protect his younger brother, to act as a King would do and not a lovesick fool.

Behind him he heard the footsteps come to a halt.

_Run, Cor, run._

He could hear the slicing of a dagger, and yelps of pain, praying that it was Corin inflicting it. His brother was the best fighter in Archenland, but he was in pain, near-blind, and relying entirely upon instinct. He didn't know how many men there were, but he did know that they would hopelessly outnumber Corin. He was going to be the King, damn it, and he couldn't protect his blood, let along his kingdom.

_Father,_ he pleaded. _What do I do?_

_Run, Cor, run._

_Thwack!_

An agonised cry filled the night air, mingling eerily with the chanting. Cor froze, spinning around in disbelief. He could make out the distant silhouette of his brother, swaying on the spot. He was clutching his middle, his body doubled over.

And then he dropped.

"Corin!" he screamed, his lungs straining with the effort. "Corin! Corin!"

He screamed and screamed and screamed, willing his brother to move, to roll over, to get to his feet. But Corin's limp body lay, still as death. One of his attackers looked up, and although Cor couldn't discern his expression, he knew that he was smirking. He made to run back, his head pounding with fury and agony, but he knew he would be returning to a battle he couldn't win. He had lost his dagger in the skirmish, and wasn't as skilled as Corin at hand-to-hand combat.

_Run, Cor, run._

Before the attacker had a chance to react, Cor turned around and ran, praying that he could reach the escape before they continued their chase, praying that his brother's sacrifice wouldn't be in vain.

_Corin, oh, Corin,_ Cor thought in anguish, almost blind with terror. His chest was in agony from the running, and his side in stitches. Was he dead? Was he unconscious? If he were dead, wouldn't he feel something? Wouldn't he know? _Oh, Aslan, where are you?_

_"I promise you, brother. I will find you... Run, Cor, run!"_

So Cor ran, away from his brother's body, and towards hell.

**A/N: I'm so sorry, all my lovely readers. I was way in over my head about how much free time I'd have over the past year; I've just finished sixth-form (or what the Americans call high school), so I've been swamped with university applications and coursework and looking for a job, and so on and so forth. I'll be honest, I sort of kind of forgot about this story in all the chaos. And then I got a review from _broken64 (or SweetTears64) _reminding me that I haven't updated in a while, so thank you for that. And after all the angsty melodrama, I figured that it's time for some ACTION. I will do my utmost to update as soon as I can; sorry for the wait! The chapter title is obviously a reference to Odysseus and Penelope: in essence, it's going to be a long, turbulent journey before Cor can be reunited with Aravis. Please read and review - I'd love to hear your thoughts on Cor's actions: do you think he's justified in leaving Corin? Should he have stayed and fought? Was it a necessary sacrifice? What do you think will happen to Corin? Drop me a comment, and I shall be a very happy bunny. **


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